Lisa is a woman who decided to quit her job to travel the world. She comes from New Jersey, just like I do, and has her very own travel web site, like I do. When I was in Poland, I found her site and sent her an email to introduce myself. We emailed back and forth a few times, swapping stories, and then I never heard from her again.
Until this week. Lisa emailed me to tell me she was in New York and asked if I wanted to meet up with her.My first reaction to her email was: that's weird, meeting a total stranger. And that is when it dawned on me: I am no longer in traveler mode. I used to meet up with strangers all of the time in Europe. I'm stuck once again with my old New York City mode. And that made me feel bad. And so I wrote her back and told her, of course, I would love to meet you. Suck it, New York City mode.Since Dan had a work meeting on Valentine's Day and we decided to postpone our annual Vday dinner for the weekend, I suggested to Lisa we meet tonight at my favorite haunt in my old neighborhood, Divine Bar. We had a nice dinner together and talked about traveling and writing. While she is back in America, she is still traveling--lingering in New York for now, making a pit stop in her current hometown in Chicago before venturing off to Los Angeles. Her trip has no end in sight, and I can see she is fighting to keep it alive, reluctant to go back to her "normal" life. She told me that traveling felt "normal" to her now.I am still struggling trying to adapt to "normal" life. I want the traveler's "normal" but I am going more mainstream: the nine-to-six working day, the commute, the cooking, the cleaning, the work-outs, the television. Concerns about money and health insurance have replaced concerns about what country I will be heading next week.This morning, as I rode the subway the work, a young punky boy, with blue hair, a leather jacket, a black eye and scars all over his face hopped on the train."It's no joke," he called out in the library-quiet subway car. "I'm broke." In typical New York fashion, everyone ignored him and continued reading their newspapers.He then knelt down and played a really good song on the guitar. I did not recognize it, but it really rocked and when he finished, someone even clapped. And for a moment, I envied him. Here's this guy just living his life on the edge and just going day by day and playing his guitar. And I loved the fact that this guy who probably was up all night getting into fights was playing on the subway at 8:45 am to a bunch of working farts like me. He walked passed me and looked straight at me and I saw he looked like a messed up kid--probably going to spend the money he got from some of the fellow passengers on booze or drugs or some other crap. I didn't really want to trade places with him. But I could tell he was a good person. He carried an essence about him that I recognized as pure and it reminded me of being a traveler and of being free to do what you want to do.
I need to find that piece of mind once again. Without being a beat up punky kid.
I made Dan homemade cupcakes for Valentine's Day. He didn't complain.
The Chrysler Building.Ever since I got back from my trip, Dan has been using the following phrase:
“In America, we don’t ______.”
This statement is usually in response to something I have done that he doesn’t like.
Like, “In America, we don’t yell in the house.” (Sometimes I yell in the house).
Or “In America, we don’t steal covers.” (Which, I totally don’t! Ever since I came back, Dan and I are having trouble sleeping together because he's always sleeping in the middle of the bed and then blames it on me with this stealing covers crap. How can I be stealing covers if he is half way on my side anyway?)
Yesterday, after a rather irritating day at work, I came home with two cupcakes from Buttercup Bake Shop. That's twice in one week. Dan came home and look a look at the tell-tale paper bag and shook his head.
After we both ate our cupcakes, he turns to me and says, “In America, we don’t eat cupcakes everyday.”“What?” I moaned. “What about cookies?”
“No cookies either.”
I thought about asking about ice cream and regular cake but I didn’t like where this conversation was going.
“You said you were eating healthy now and on the first day, you had a bad day so you bought cupcakes,” Dan said.
“I did eat healthy today!” I said. I had a salad for lunch and chicken for dinner and no bad snacks.
“In America, we don’t eat cupcakes everyday.”
“Well, you know what then? I don’t want to live in America then!”
And then after all that, that rascal Dan ate some candy. I didn't. Because I'm healthy.
Here's my attempt to take a picture of myself in the snow.
Didn't work. So I took this picture to prove there was snow.
Major snow-related traffic outside my window.
My first paycheck as a freelancer.My first paycheck in six months.
Halleluiah!
mmm...Buttercup.
Today at work, I was asked to make some copies.
I have to admit, it humbled me a little. I haven't made copies for someone in years. But then again, the woman who asked seems incredibly nice and incredibly busy, and I am moderately nice and was moderately busy, and so I just swallowed my pride and said, "Sure!" Of course, I wasted an entire tree doing it because first I made six copies of the wrong side of the five-page document, so only blank pages showed up. And then when I copied the right side, but the note she wrote was missing on the top, so I had to readjust and do it again. Like I said, it's been a long time since I have made copies.
At least they are paying me good money to make copies.
I guess what is weird is that I used to get a lot of my self-esteem from working hard and being recognized for my hard work, and I don't know if that is going to happen as a freelancer. I am a pretty quiet person and so my awesomeness tends to reveal itself quite slowly to people--which means I might be gone and working somewhere else before these people realize it. But maybe that is a good thing because a) my self-esteem SHOULDN'T come from a job and b) I will be motivated to improve my self-worth via my personal projects, which is what this freelance thing is all about.Days two and three were definitely better than the first. I got some good work done. I had zero stress. I got home at a decent hour. I have even figured out the right place to stand on the subway platform in the mornings so I can get on the train despite the crowd. Given that my life has some structure, I have also started going to the gym regularly as well. (Unfortunately, my motivational running episode did not inspire me to run at all since then).
I usually work out in the mornings, but today, after waking up at 6 am two days in a row, I was beat, so I slept in and went to the gym after work. I went to the gym location in midtown east, which is in my old, old neighborhood (where Dan and I used to live before we moved in together) and I was surprised to see how much it has changed in the last three years. There are so many new restaurants, so I walked through the streets trying to remember the restaurants they replaced. I could barely remember any.
One oldie but goody that is still there is my old standby: Buttercup Bake Shop. I was going to the gym, yet I went in there to buy two cupcakes to share with Dan when I came home. Is it weird to go get cupcakes on the way to the gym? Do I have a problem?
If so, like a true addict, it's a problem I don't want fixed.
The purple guy got a little smushed in the gym locker.
So I have spent the last four weeks just dying, aching, waiting to work. Today I worked. And today I remembered. Work is not fun.
Aw, alright. It wasn't so bad.
Despite my horrible commute--which shouldn't be horrible because it is three stops on the 6 train--I had a good first day. (What is up with the 6 train? In both directions morning and evening, I had to wait for two packed trains to pass me by before I finally jostled my way into the third one).I got this job through one of my former coworkers named Brooke, who I worked with back in the days when she and I were both assistants. She is also a freelancer, and so I had emailed her for advice and she told me that she was working at this magazine and they needed more people and that is how I came aboard. So it was nice that I knew someone there, but besides her, no one else spoke to me much.I forgot: That is what happens on your first day. I haven't had a first day in years (I had been at my old job forever and knew everything and everyone). Now I am the new girl--and not just a new girl, but a new freelancer which means that people care less (I'll be gone before they realize someone new is in their midst)--so it was a fairly quiet day. Actually, the third freelancer who sits across from me talked to me because she probably knows the drill.Typical first day, I have no idea what I am doing. They had me read a lot of stuff that mostly made sense to me (all marketing is the same, really) but after a while, also made my head spin. How was I going to remember all this? I worked on some projects that would have taken me two seconds at my old job that took me six years here because I don't know what I was talking about. Before, I was completely independent with my work and here I (understandably) have to cc everyone to make sure that everything I am doing is okay. Still, it makes me hyper aware of everything, which in itself, is tiring.
I really needed a mental break, but these people don't believe in taking a proper lunch, so there was none of that. Just a quick run to get a salad with Brooke and come back to my desk. Oh, work. Oh, work in New York. Oh, working in marketing in New York. How little you have changed.
I left the office building at 6ish, it was dark and I was exhausted. It's sad to see the entire day gone, but at this moment, I really can't complain. My bank account is dying, aching, waiting for money. I came home and plopped on my couch, feeling pooped but relieved the first day is over. First day is always the worst, and I am happy it is already hump day.
Me, in between interviews.
Today's Tarot Card: Death"This card is commonly misconstrued and does not specifically pertain to physical death. The Death card signifies change in your life brought about by the ending of a current situation and the beginning of a new one. While the card itself may be morbid, it actually represents exciting change in your life. Be prepared for new and exciting situations to develop."
Holy crap! New and exciting situations did develop.First of all, the last two working days, I went on three interviews. Interviewing to me feels like going on a date. You have to dress up, you feel a little nervous, you want to make a good impression. I hardly slept both nights (yesterday, there were very exuberant Giant fans screaming and honking their horns outside my window. Go, Giants, by the way). And I have never been a serial dater, and so speaking about myself and making nice so many times in such a short time was somewhat overwhelming, tiring, exciting, scary, all of the above.
But I did well. The first interview on Friday was for a month-long freelance marketing gig, and I left the offices with a smile on my face, crossing my fingers, wishing and hoping. My interviewer told me she would get back to me by the end of the day, so as I baked cakes for Mom's party, I hovered over my cell phone (it got covered in flour) and carried it in my hand around with me everywhere I went. It never rang. I was a little crushed. I would have to wait all weekend to find out.
This morning, I got up early for an 8:30 interview at another magazine. This interview was for a permanent job. (I know, I know, I said I was not going to go there, but my friend hooked me up for the interview and frankly it's a good job for me: Better title, fun magazine, innovative marketing.) I think I could do well there. Apparently they thought the same thing, too, and within hours I got a voice mail for a second interview.
Third interview, my head is swirling. Freelance job or permanent job? I can barely concentrate. Where am I? What I am talking about? Luckily, it was with a human resources manager at a publishing company, more of an informational interview. After ten minutes, she looked up at me and said, "We'd love to have you permanently. Are you sure you want to go freelance?"And there was the question of the day.I felt so torn. All along I have been saying that I want to do freelance. I could work at different magazines and get different experiences, while getting paid well to do it. And most importantly, the whole reason for doing it, it would give me the flexibility to write.If there was ever a time that I felt like there was an angel and a devil sitting on my shoulder, telling me what to do, this was it. And the devil, representing permanent work, was very convincing. Hello, great job, stability, benefits, health insurance, rewards! The devil played into all my fears, reassuring me that taking the permanent job was the right thing to do, the sensible choice for my career. I would be going back to doing what I know, and even though I might not be happy all the time, for sure, I can succeed in that environment.
The devil would have me convinced, and I would be excited about succeeding--this is so my pre-trip frame of mind!--when the freelance angel would pipe up, softly: What about writing? They mentioned in permanent job-land that they work until 7. That means I would come home at 8, very tired for writing. The devil interrupts: Freelancing offers no stability, no benefits, no health insurance, it'll be hard to get recognition for the work I put in, that is if I get work. It will allow me to afford a writer's lifestyle, but I have no idea if I will like it, and there's no guarantee that I will be a success.
I spent the afternoon, in a zone, writing emails to people I trust for advice, popping Rocher chocolates like they're good for me, until I finally fell asleep where I dreamed that I was on a plane that was on the verge of crashing. I woke up and checked my email. I got the freelance job. Starting Wednesday, five days a week for one month, 9-6, making good money. I imed Dan.
"I got the freelance position. I am leaning towards accepting it."
"I am leaning towards you accepting it, too," he replied.
I made my choice. What made me decide was this: Would I go to the grave regretting that I did not take this permanent job or that I didn't give myself the chance to try writing? It felt much easier making a decision after that consideration.
But then the hard part, both in interviewing and in dating. Letting the other guy down easy.
Superbowl Sunday: Football and Ikea furniture installation.
Are you watching what you are doing? Or are you watching the Giants slaughter the Patriots?
