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The Mad Ones
I watched a documentary about Mister Rogers recently, and I can't stop thinking about his message to people, particularly children: that he liked them just the way they are. I've thought a lot about authenticity, and I think most people can feel, instinctively, when someone or something is not genuine.
I often think of this quote from Jack Kerouac's On The Road: "the only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars and in the middle you see the blue centerlight pop and everybody goes “Awww!"
"The only people for me are the mad ones..." has become a sort of guiding philosophy in my life. I spent so many of my formative years feeling embarrassed for the things I enjoyed. I was made to feel less than for being soft spoken, for not liking dresses, for cutting my hair too short. I can't pinpoint the exact moment in my life when I decided to embrace my interests—even if they were considered "out there" or silly and trivial by others—but I do know that my life has been exponentially richer for it.
I enjoyed touring South of the Border more than Machu Picchu; my dream vacation is a trip to Chernobyl, not to an Instagram-worthy beach town; I don't particularly enjoy superhero movies or Beyoncé; I would rather watch Sophie's Choice than the latest Star Wars and I'll probably never watch Game of Thrones; I've read 20 books this year and I've run zero miles and that has to be OK. When I completed my reading challenge last year, the most common question that people asked me was "how did you read so much?" and the only answer I could come up with was, "I just wanted to."
I think a lot about why I write this blog and share my stories, and ultimately I want to be a positive force in people's lives—to encourage them to embrace their interests, whatever they may be. You won't be successful or happy doing something that doesn't interest you—and why would you want to be, anyway? I want people to notice the whimsy in the mundane, to appreciate the mad ones, to notice that there are things that "burn, burn, burn like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars" everywhere you look. To use another of my favorite quotes (from Death Becomes Her, natch) "these are the moments that make life worth living."
Of course, it's hard not to compare yourself to others, and everything looks better through the Gaussian blur of social media. I'm at the age where everyone I know is either engaged, married, having kids or buying a house and I am doing ... none of those things. I once thought I wanted children, but I realize now that what I wanted was an outlet to make people feel special—I wanted to write lunchbox notes and throw birthday parties and have a tangible excuse to go through corn mazes in the fall. But the farther away I get from that childhood dream of a big family, the more I realize that I can fulfill that need in other ways—I can carve pumpkins and go to storybook parks and buy lamps shaped like dinosaurs, without sacrificing my autonomy.
There is enough negativity and deceit in the world—comprising hatred and jealousy and fear—that I want to seek out the people and places that breed authentic joy. I want this blog to be a gathering place for, and an ode to "the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time."
These photos were taken last month at Bergdorf Goodman. These window displays were celebrating Iris Apfel—a fabulous yellow roman candle of a person—and her new book.
Hudson River Ice
This winter started off with a shock of unseasonably cold weather for which I was most definitely not prepared. I finally reconciled with the arctic temps just in time for it to warm up (and then get cold again—it's hard to keep up) and I'm glad that winter and I are back on good terms because I have a special kind of love for winter in New York.
Five years ago (!) on January 11th, 2013, I very quickly uprooted my life in Ohio and moved to New York for what I started calling a "trial period" of two months. I had wanted to live in New York for most of my life, but I still was wary of making the commitment. A (somewhat surprise) break-up triggered the quick getaway and I had a job that allowed me to work remotely, easing the transition. Even though I was pretty sure about the outcome, I wanted my move to New York to be backed up by evidence and not just romance.
I spent those two months exploring the city—on my lunch break, after work and on the weekends—and although I had been here many times before, I discovered that living in New York 24/7 was infinitely different than being here on vacation. I had friends here, but I was alone more often than not, and I learned more about myself in those two months than I had in the several years prior.
I had initially thought that the winter was the worst possible time for my trial run, thinking that the city would be miserably cold and bleak. Ohio winters are no joke, but after a life of heated seats and limited time spent outside, I dreaded having to walk outdoors so much in the winter. I quickly realized, however, that the right clothes and shoes can make all of the difference, and I came to cherish the way the city empties out after the holidays, the way the bare trees expose previously obscured views and of course, the magical way everything looks coated in a fresh layer of snow (fresh being the operative word).
I was worried at the beginning of this season that I had finally lived in New York long enough to become immune to its charms. But then I layered up and took a walk along the icy Hudson—mesmerized by the bobbing ice floes—and remembered why I fell in love with this city in the first place.
In 1780, during the American Revolution, the New York harbor completely froze over, and in the 1800s, the East River froze over several times—solid enough that it was possible to walk from Manhattan to Brooklyn. A combination of high salinity levels and frequent boat traffic usually keeps the Hudson from freezing over completely, although it's technically still possible.
When the two months were up and I went back to Ohio, I knew it wouldn't be long until I returned to New York again for good, and five months later I moved for real. It was unbearably hot in those first weeks, and the winters here can feel relentlessly grey and cold, a season of death and deep freeze. But after several years spent feeling as if I was merely existing in a self-imposed dormancy, it was in the dead of winter that I truly started to come alive again.
South of the Border: Day
Road trips are good metaphors for how I view life in general—it's less about the big picture and more about the little moments along the way—but finally making it to South of the Border was the highlight in a year filled with novelty architecture, muffler men and silly roadside attractions. I talked a little about how the trip came together in this post, but I'm still pleased that after talking about it and saying "I need to get there!" for so long, that I finally made it happen.
It turns out that all of the little things I thought were standing in my way—money, time, someone to come with me—weren't so hard to work out once I decided to really make a plan. I get asked sometimes how I do "so much," which is relative of course —and probably skewed by my online presence, trust me there are days when I do absolutely nothing—but I get derailed by my own silly misconceptions and anxieties just like anyone. I had been planning an epic South of the Border road trip for years, but once I decided that I had to get there in 2017, everything fell into place.
It might seem ridiculous to consider seeing South of the Border as my greatest accomplishment of 2017—a year in which I also hiked the Inca Trail, deliriously sick for half of it, nonetheless. But it's less about the destination and more about having the conviction, about having a plan and following through, about recognizing what is right for your own specific life, about finding things that make you happy and about really doing them, about taking control and not being sidetracked by outside input.
There was a large portion of my life where I didn't feel in control of much. I wasn't happy with where I lived and much of my day-to-day life revolved around others peoples' schedules and feelings. It's an easy trap to fall into—gradually, and then all at once—but it can seem impossible to take the reigns again once you feel you've lost them. Of course life is full of moments and circumstances that are out of our control, but having a firm idea of what you want out of the controllable variables can make those unavoidable bumps much less scary.
We stayed overnight in the motel and our room was clean and much bigger than I expected. In the morning, it was foggy and deserted which gave the entire place a sort of post-apocalyptic feel (that I loved). We had breakfast in the Sombrero Room (again, not to be confused with the steakhouse housed in an actual sombrero-shaped building) and wandered around trying to soak in all of its brightly-colored kitsch. South of the Border has definitely seen better days (to be fair, we were also there in October) but everything looked freshly painted and well-loved.
We were just about to leave when my mom suggested that we wait a few minutes until 10 am, when the (also sombrero-shaped) observation tower opened. I was concerned about our time frame for the day, and cautious about running out of daylight but in the end she was totally right. We'd driven too far to leave without seeing everything that South of the Border had to offer. Also, admission was only $2/person and we ended up having the observation deck all to ourselves, so always listen to your mom!
South of the Border might be a silly, outdated, culturally insensitive roadside attraction—useful to most people only for the bathrooms—but it will always mean more to me than anyone could know. This trip marked a sneaky turning point in my life—it wasn't the first road trip I planned, and it won't be the last, but it was the one that made me realize that my life truly is mine.
2017 Gift Guide
This isn't really a "gift guide" kind of blog, but my love of gift guides and online shopping knows no bounds. So, I decided to link to things that I personally own and love—things that have made my life a little easier or things that just make me smile. Happy shopping!
When I bought my first "nice" camera, I was determined to replace the Canon strap that it came with immediately so I didn't look like a dad on vacation (and those stock straps are not very comfortable). It was hard to choose which one I wanted from Couch—I love the vintage auto vinyl patterns—but I've never regretted going with my instincts and choosing the black and white cat face strap. I've had it for four years now and I still get compliments pretty much every time it's visible—I even once met someone with the same strap (at an anti-Trump rally) and we've since become Instagram friends. Also, I have that exact same shirt and that's my dream dog so the above image is basically me living my best life.
I spent years wasting money on pair, after pair of crappy no-show socks only to have them slip down, bunch up and generally ruin my day. I resisted the Bombas trend for a while because spending $14 on a pair of socks seemed ridiculous, and even though it still hurts to spend that much they're definitely worth it. I now have several pairs, and they literally stay up ALL DAY long. USE OFFER CODE HOLIDAY2017 at checkout to get 20% off (this is a huge deal because these almost NEVER go on sale).
Driven by sleep-deprived desperation, I took to Amazon to find a cat toy that would keep Mozart busy in hopes of curing the boredom that's apparently causing her to wail all night (and day) long. She loves this toy more than she's ever loved anything else in her eight years of life, and although she still bothers me, I feel a tiny bit better about her overall mental well-being. This does make noise (not horrible, just the sound of a ping pong ball rolling around a plastic track) so I hide it from her at night, but I've had it for months now and she's still just as interested.
I paid waaaaay too much on Amazon for Mrs. Meyer's apple cider scent for the fall, convinced that the New York Targets would be out of it, but it's the best-smelling soap I've ever had so it was definitely worth it. A few weeks ago, I found one bottle on clearance at the Harlem location, so I snatched it up to hoard for next year, along with their Peppermint scent for the winter. I never thought I'd get so excited about hand soap, but smells are super important to me and New York is a germ-infested cesspool, so here we are. FREE SHIPPING on any order over $30.
The Butchering Art: Joseph Lister's Quest to Transform the Grisly World of Victorian Medicine
A Gentleman in Moscow
We Are Never Meeting in Real Life: Essays
The Road To Jonestown: Jim Jones and the Peoples Temple
I've read 46 books so far this year (on track for my goal of 52!) and these were my top favorites.
Infinity Instruments Wall Clock
When I moved in August, I realized I needed a clock for my bathroom. I like to know what time it is as I'm getting ready in the morning, but I wanted something vintage-looking. I love how this clock looks old, but uses batteries (no cord!) and it definitely looks more expensive than it is.
I've always loved the Yummy Breakfast line of plush pillows and keychains, but when I spotted these sausages I knew I had to have them. I put them on my Amazon wishlist for a while, trying not to be impulsive with my money but eventually I just had to buy them. The sausages snap together so you can display them individually or all together, and although they literally serve no purpose other than making me smile (they show them used as a neck pillow lolz), I've never regretted buying them—and I actually think I could use three more.
I am so picky when it comes to my clothing that sometimes dressing myself in something I don't hate feels like an impossible task. I bought this cocoon cardigan in navy at Target and I loved it so much I bought two more—in black and red—and I wear them constantly. They're dressier than my usual hoodies, but just as warm and cozy. At the risk of turning into a cartoon character with a closet full of the same shirt, I might have to buy the one in olive too. ON SALE now for $20.
Fjallraven Kanken Classic Pack
When my Herschel backpack started falling apart, my friend Jim was nice enough to replace it for my birthday with this Fjallraven pack. These are super popular in New York and I see them everywhere, but now I know why—it's definitely the best backpack I've ever owned. It's surprisingly lightweight, super comfortable, durable and holds way more than it looks like it does. I use this whenever I'm carrying my camera, and it comfortably fits my camera case along with all of my other essentials. I do recommend buying the extra padded straps if you get the classic pack—the black ones were a pain to get and back-ordered for a long time, but they were worth the wait.
I wanted a new bedside reading lamp when I moved, and I love the vintage look of this one from IKEA. I had no idea that you could order IKEA merchandise (and their strange lightbulbs) on Amazon, which made this purchase a no-brainer. It's the perfect "institutional green" color, and it's cheaper than a lot of other similar styles I'd found elsewhere.
I had some time to kill recently and wandered into a shop in Brooklyn. They had tons of fun, non-essential things, but I knew I had to have this googly eye contact case the minute I saw it. When I went to use it that night, I realized that there is no distinction between the left and right eye, which is a little confusing if you have two different prescriptions, but I use it at home so I just make sure not to move it after putting in my lenses. It's silly, but it makes me smile at least two times a day.
Human Organ Transplant Lunchbag
David got this for me as a Christmas present two years ago, and I've been using it as my camera case ever since. That's not really what it's meant for, but it's sturdy, holds all of my gear and I can't think of a more appropriate case for me.
These are everywhere these days, but one day the image of an orange letterboard with the word "Boo!" on it popped into my head. I found this one on Amazon and it's exactly the size and color that I wanted (they come in other colors too), and cheaper than some of the others I've seen. These all come with a bag of letters, now I just have to come up with what it's going to say next.
Peewee Print // Bunyan Print // Halloween Print
There are few things I love more in life than art—my apartment walls are covered nearly floor to ceiling and it's still not enough for me. My lifelong struggle is too much art and not enough wall space, and my collection comes from different artists, Etsy shops and thrift stores. Three of my favorite places to look new art: Little Friends of Printmaking, Ryan Duggan (he's having a Black Friday mystery tube sale) and Madame Talbot (FREE SHIPPING always!).
32
Today I turn 32, which isn't a "milestone" birthday in any other way except the fact that I'm still alive, which, if you're using that as your gauge, makes every birthday a milestone. I wrote last year about finally feeling comfortable in my own skin, and the further I get into this decade I can definitively say that being in my thirties suits me. I had a comfortable, if unremarkable childhood and I suffered all of the teen angst without much of the carefree recklessness that makes people nostalgic for their high school days. Being an "adult" is often dreadfully dull—all paperwork and phone calls—and of course I"m not without my anxieties, but I am at my happiest when I feel in control of my choices and my life.
I recently moved into a studio apartment and I'm living alone for the first time in my life. The feeling that I'm in near-total control of my living space has made me deliriously happy and I will almost certainly look back on this move as a defining moment in my New York life. Other notable moments from this past year include: hiking the Inca Trail (while deathly ill!); running my first-ever continuous mile (and then two miles!); paying off my student loans completely (almost a year early!); exploring numerous abandoned buildings and cemeteries; trips to Roswell, Philly, Atlantic City, Salem, Charleston, Florida, Ohio, Peru and Colombia; finally visiting Lucy the Elephant and The Big Duck; meeting several new Muffler Men; commuting via the brand new Second Avenue Subway; spending a sad election night outside of the Javtis Center and marching on Washington during the Women's March.
I've made new friends, lost touch with others and am constantly reminded that just as you are what you eat (right now I'm 90% pizza Combos), you are the company you keep. I moved back to Manhattan with David doing most of the heavy-lifting (and all of the driving!) and all it cost me was $75 for the U-Haul and a week of limping around, nearly hobbled. I joke about being fragile and creaky and forgetful, but I'm incredibly lucky and grateful to be able to hike mountains, run miles and walk home from work.
I'm very good at planning for the future as well as looking back on what I've done, but I'm still working on really being present. There are some days when I actually get anxious because I no longer feel as if I'm working toward a larger goal—graduating college, moving to a new city—but am simply living. I have to remind myself that there is beauty in the calm, in the routine, in the comfortable. I'm finally happy with who I am and where I am, and I'm ready for whatever comes next.
Madame Talbot
I can't recall when I first discovered Madame Talbot's incredible "Victorian Lowbrow" style or saw her intricate (and completely hand drawn!) posters, but I've been a huge fan of her work for some time. If you're a fellow fan of the macabre, you've probably seen her artwork in museum gift shops—the Mütter Museum, the New Orleans Pharmacy Museum, the International Museum of Surgical Science—or curiosity shops like Evolution (or even knock-offs of her work—seriously, don't steal people's artwork, ok???).
I've never met Ashleigh Talbot, and in an interview posted on her site, she describes herself as "a reclusive artist" who doesn't "take part in the gallery scene," but lives with her "husband and five cats in a 140-year-old haunted house located on the edge of the Oregon Coast." However, thanks to the magic of the Internet (and specifically Instagram), we've become friendly and I am awed at the glimpses into her process and madly jealous of her top-notch private collection of oddities.
Her posters are so intricate and incredibly detailed, a fact that becomes even more impressive when you take into account that she does every step by hand. You can see photos of her process here, but she is very adamant that no computers are involved—from pencil sketch to inking, to the final printing process, everything is done without the aid of digital technology. I'm a graphic designer, but I've never considered myself an artist and I'm continually in awe of anyone who can produce art using only their hands and a pencil.
When I moved into my new apartment—and even though I was losing wall space—I decided to treat myself to a Madame Talbot print. I'd had my eye on the Halloween print for some time, and I always forget that they're so wildly affordable ($14.95 with free shipping and it arrived in two days). When I posted on Instagram about the order, Madame Talbot responded almost immediately with the kindest note, offering to send me another print of my choosing as a housewarming gift. Choosing from her inventory is always difficult—I want them all!—but the Antique Prosthetics poster was the ultimate winner.
Madame Talbot didn't send me the poster so I would blog about it (to my five followers, lolz) but because she's just a nice person. The Internet can be a dark and scary place full of trolls and instant Web MD cancer self-diagnoses, but occasionally it can be a magical place that connects people with similar interests that would otherwise never meet. I never imagined when I first tagged Madame Talbot's work in a photo of my gallery wall that she'd respond or turn out to be so kind—we'll probably never meet in person, but her artwork enriches me on a daily basis.
Call Me Little Edie
Four years ago, I moved to New York from Northeast Ohio—and two months later my mom made the same move. For the first two years, we were roommates, sharing two different two-bedroom apartments in upper Manhattan. Two years ago when I moved to Brooklyn, she stayed in our Harlem apartment and a new roommate moved into my room. Last week, I moved back to that Harlem brownstone, but into a studio apartment one floor below my mom.
I'm living alone for the first time in my life, and it's already even more wonderful than I imagined it would be. I knew moving was the right step for me for many reasons—the price is right, I love the neighborhood, my morning commute has improved, the noise and exhaust from living right on Flatbush Avenue was killing me, most of my friends live in Manhattan—but I was nervous about one thing: being neighbors with my mom.
I was nervous not because my mom is terrible—she's great, actually—but because ever since we moved to New York I've felt defensive about dispelling the notion that I'm an adult woman who needs my mom. I have no idea how or why this idea first rooted itself in my brain, but no matter how much I try to shake it, it still creeps up from time to time.
It logically makes no sense—I'm about to be 32 years old and I've had a job since I was 15. I lived on campus while I went to college and then moved into a house with a boyfriend for five years after that. I've grocery shopped and hosted Thanksgivings and had three car loans. I've secured several jobs, paid off my student loans early and found our first New York apartment. I've navigated complicated medical issues, traveled internationally and I go to the dentist religiously. I don't have everything figured out of course—thinking about planning for retirement makes my head spin—but all things considered I think I'm a pretty competent and independent adult.
I like to joke that my mom isn't like a regular mom—she's a cool mom!—but that's actually true. She's funny and smart and generous. Sometimes she drives me crazy temporarily, but in addition to basically sharing a face (something everyone points out), we're very similar people. I genuinely enjoy hanging out with her and we're mostly interested in the same things. We love diners, dachshunds in clothes, silly roadside attractions, serial killers, thrift stores and anything bizarre.
So why do I worry about how people perceive our relationship? She doesn't pay my rent or excessively interfere in my life and I know I don't need my mom to survive as a functioning adult—which should be all that matters. I always knew I was being silly, but insecurities aren't rational and irrational thinking patterns are not easy to reverse. I knew that moving so close to my mom again would reignite some weird feelings that were mostly dormant while I lived in Brooklyn, but I'm trying to finally grow past them.
It's only been a week, but so far having my mom as my neighbor has been great. She bought me dollar store pizzas on the day I moved in because she knew I didn't have any food, and when I realized I didn't yet have a way to make coffee, I just went upstairs for a cup. We went to IKEA on Sunday, shared a car service back to Harlem and comically struggled with heavy boxes that neither of us would have been capable of carrying on our own. Accepting (and enjoying) these small perks doesn't mean that I'm any less capable of providing for myself—it just means that I'm lucky and privileged to have a thoughtful (and quiet!) neighbor, to whom I just happen to be related.
Goodbye, Brooklyn
Today is moving day! Today David and I will carry all of my worldly possessions down four flights of stairs, load everything into a U-Haul and drive it to Manhattan, where we will unload it all into my first-ever studio apartment. I have never lived alone in my life—if you don't count two years in college, where I technically had my own room but still shared a bathroom—and to say I'm excited is a huge understatement.
I'm trading two roommates for just one—a particularly loud, 8-year-old, grey cat who still won't help me with the rent despite the fact that she never leaves the apartment. This will be my fourth move in four years of living in New York but I've signed a two-year lease so I won't be apartment- or roommate-searching again for some time. Uncertainty in my housing situation is one of the things I like least about living in New York—I didn't move out of my childhood home until I was 24, and I'm a nester by nature. My idea of "playing Barbies" when I was younger was to set up elaborate homes for the dolls and then break them down and start all over. We had a tiny plastic toilet that really flushed and I was never happier than when I was tinkering with my miniature interiors.
I'm moving back into the Harlem brownstone where I lived two years ago, when I was roommates with my mom. She still lives in that apartment (with a roommate) and she'll be able to visit Mozart when I'm away, and I can help her carry heavy things up the stairs. As long as we can avoid the slow slide into our inevitable Grey Gardens future, I think we'll both benefit from being neighbors.
I will miss many things about living in Brooklyn, which has been my home and so much more to me during the past two years. David and I fell in love in Brooklyn and he lives there, so I'll still be there all the time, but every place I've lived in New York leaves its mark. I ran my first continuous mile along Prospect Park West; I started eating falafel and guacamole; I had four different roommates and still count them all as friends; David introduced me to his regular bar and I became obsessed with their mac n' cheese; I walked home from dinners, bars and Celebrate Brooklyn; and Jim and I sat through countless nerdy Brooklyn Brainery lectures and rewarded ourselves afterwards with scoops from Ample Hills.
In hindsight, I was hardly in my actual neighborhood much, but I will miss being in such close proximity to fresh mozz pizza slices from Anthony's and Danish pancakes from Tom's. But I'm also excited to discover places in Harlem and upper Manhattan—both the new and the old.
I'm looking forward to the fresh start, and although physically moving is a total pain, I am very excited to unpack and set up my new space. I've never been one of those New Yorkers that balks at traveling too far outside of my own neighborhood, so moving won't have much effect on my city adventures, but I don't think it's dramatic to think that coming home to a space of my own will be nothing short of life-changing.
Four Year New York-iversary
I haven't really done much for longer than five years in my life. My longest relationship and job both lasted about five years and I took five years to graduate college. I don't think it's because I get bored easily (or because I was behind in college), but I think that my life tends to run in cycles. Like seasons, lives change—sometimes slowly and sometimes all at once but staying in one place, either emotionally or physically, never seems to be the best option for me for too long.
Four years ago today I moved to New York City, beginning what would be a period of huge change for me in nearly every area of my life. To live in New York is to live with seemingly constant change and I've mourned losses (friends, apartments, diners, the Morbid Anatomy Museum) just as much as I've celebrated gains (friends, apartments, diners, the Morbid Anatomy Museum). One month from now I'll be moving for the fourth time in four years—back to my last neighborhood, to a studio apartment one floor below where I used to live with my mom (and where she still lives, with a roommate). Besides two years in college, I've never lived alone before and I'm looking forward to it more than I can possibly explain.
I will miss Brooklyn and running in Prospect Park; walking home from the Double Windsor, home of the world's best mac n' cheese (shh); hosting Halloween parties and Christmas Vacation viewing parties in an apartment that can hold more than two people at a time; having a washer/dryer just steps from my bedroom; my morning commute that is surprisingly chill and affords me loads of reading time and all of the wonderful memories that I've made at 636 Carlton—before and after I moved there officially.
I won't miss living with roommates (despite having been quite lucky in that department); dollar van horns and garbage truck engines on Flatbush Avenue all night long; having a very loud washer/dryer just steps from my bedroom; worrying that Mozart is annoying my roommates as much as she's annoying me; juggling shower times with two other people on the same schedule as me; trying to get to North Brooklyn neighborhoods via Subway without having to go into Manhattan first and roasting nearly year round in a fourth-floor walk-up that gets too much sunlight (yes, that's a thing).
In some ways it feels as if I've lived in New York forever and I joke that most days I feel just steps away from turning into Lillian from Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt. But in other ways it feels as if I've just arrived and when I think I've got my life figured out, another cycle ends and I'm forced to readjust to a new reality. The good news is that this all seems to be getting easier—even as the changes and stakes seem to just keep getting bigger—and I've weathered enough change in the past to know that it's inevitable and should be welcomed, not feared. So here's to another year or four or forty in New York—I may not have any idea what those years will bring, but I'm looking forward to finding out.
31 on the 31st
Today I turn 31 on the 31st, which despite being what I've heard to referred to as my "golden" or "magical" birthday, feels somewhat anti-climactic. 30 felt weird, in good and bad ways, but I've always considered myself an old soul so I like to think that as I age, I'm not getting older, just simply catching up with myself. But 31? ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
For a very large portion of my life, I never felt at home in my birth state of Ohio. I lived in the same house for 20+ years, went to college a few miles away and after graduation I got a job and moved in with a boyfriend—all within a 30 mile radius. I've always felt like a late bloomer, physically and emotionally, so in the grand scheme of things I suppose it makes sense that I didn't move to New York until I was almost 28 years old. In some ways it feels as if that is really when my life began, and in three sometimes short, sometimes long years, I've grown into a person I'm really comfortable being. I'm in a city where I feel at ease, I have a stable career at which I feel competent, if not slightly above average at times, and I'm finally in a relationship that is easy, fun and reciprocal.
I grew up in a constant state of unease. I was a prohibitively picky eater, I wasn't interested in dating anyone, I consistently felt as if I was in the wrong place, in the wrong time, broken and in need of something I had no way of finding. It wasn't all doom and gloom, of course, and by all accounts I've had a perfectly lovely life, but there are so many times that I think back on teenage me and wish I could go back with a magic Beauty-and-the-Beast-style mirror and show her, everything is going to be okay.
I feel as if I grew into myself, and while I'm still not perfect—and will likely never feel as such—I'm definitely at ease with who I am in a way I've never been before. Maybe it's the fabled "wisdom" that comes with old age, or maybe it's my experiences or my choices or just some wild mysterious mix of brain synapses, but whatever it is, I'm grateful every day that I found me.
Francesca and I went to Chinatown last week and had our auras photographed, and while I wont bore you with the analysis, I will say that there are way worse ways to spend $20 and a Friday night. We had one of those lovely New York nights where nothing is planned and everything works out way better than you expect. Where trains run on time and the soup dumplings don't fall apart and you share deep insights and silly stories with someone who just gets you.
My life has been filled with long stretches of average days that blur together into years—days with annoyances and boredom and frustrations and heartaches and general malaise—like anyone lucky enough to live a life. But it's the bright spots that stand out, the large moments—landing at LaGuardia without a return ticket, or the first nervous "I Love You"s—and the small—making a friend laugh or the time I realized that I finally liked guacamole—that keep me wanting more.
My Third Year as a New Yorker
When I moved to New York City—three years ago today!—I didn't consider myself new to the city. I had been here on vacation, to visit friends, to see plays and TV shows, to check out (wildly unaffordable) colleges, and on one particularly long and ridiculous AAA bus trip with my mom and grandma. I had more friends in New York than I had left in Ohio and I'd dreamed of living here so long that when my plane touched down at LaGuardia it felt like I was finally coming home.
Of course I soon found out that no matter how much I thought I knew New York, visiting a city is very different than really living in it. There were negatives that I had been aware of but hadn't really experienced as a tourist—every day tasks such as laundry, receiving packages or grocery shopping for more than one meal at a time are all vastly more complicated here than they had ever been in my car-and-home-reliant life in Ohio. Thankfully, however, the positive surprises far outweighed the negative, and I'm still discovering joys of city living that weren't necessarily a part of my original motivation to move, but without which my life would be significantly different.
The Diners
I'm sure I had always loved diners, but it wasn't until my two-month trial run as a New York City resident that I really fell in love. Diners are the perfect place to fill up on cheap breakfast (and where I really started to drink regular coffee for the first time) before a long day spent exploring the city. Searching out diners helped narrow the overwhelming restaurant world down to a reasonable amount of choices—with the comforting menu consistency of chain restaurants and the charm of an independent business. Every diner is different, but there is no fear of the unknown when ordering a waffle, an egg sandwich or an omelette. Diners are also the perfect place to dine alone—in fact, diner counters seem to have been made with the single diner in mind.
I've often lamented the loss of classic diners, in Manhattan especially, but three years later I'm still finding new (to me) places like the Goodfellas (aka Clinton) Diner, the very reflective Floridian, the wood-paneled Kane's and the small-but-mighty Pearl Diner. Although our credit cards were wrongly declined during our first visit to the Empire Diner, I loved it for its staying power as the last remaining dining car in Manhattan. Sadly the Empire closed (again) last December and its fate remains uncertain.
I think the loss of the Market Diner, however, hit me the hardest. Although I knew it was closing and was able to pay it a proper goodbye, I was still heartbroken when I walked by recently—hoping to catch a glimpse of its zigzag roof and large metal sign with curving script one last time—and saw only a hole in the ground. I can only hope that for every one this city loses, I find another authentic diner untouched by time —places with vinyl-covered swivel stools, flickering neon signs and a perfect cup of diner coffee.
The Cemeteries
A lot of people (and pets!) have lived in New York City over the years—and died here—which makes for an almost endless supply of cemeteries to explore. Like diners, I've always had an affinity for leisurely cemetery strolls, but it wasn't until I moved to New York that they became a priority destination for me. I love nothing more than to discover a new cemetery, and just when I think I've seen them all, I discover yet another one that is unlike any place I've seen before.
I've visited Harry Houdini, the Fox Sisters, Ed Koch, Miles Davis, Duke Ellington, Irving Berlin, Herman Mellvile, and Robert Moses and explored beautifully maintained spaces like Green-Wood (and became a member) and overgrown, nearly-neglected spots like Bayside. There is nothing more peaceful and restorative than a walk amongst New York City's past residents, most of which are thankfully much quieter and more respectful than a lot of their living counterparts.
The Parks
It seems a bit funny to me that I had to move to New York to really start appreciating nature, but somehow that happened. Maybe it's living in a tiny apartment, or the fact that I'm already outside walking wherever I have to go, but I find myself taking advantage of the city parks much more than I ever did in Ohio.
I used to walk to work every day through the northern part of Central Park, and although I love living in Brooklyn for many reasons, my park commute is the thing I miss most. I did, however, move very close to Prospect Park and it's equally as beautiful in the all of the seasons. For two years I was a member of the NYBG, and the BBG is comparably magical for their cherry blossoms, tulips, desert collection and bonsai museum.
The People
I mentioned that by the time I moved here, I already had friends in the city. Luckily I still have those friends and I've even managed to make more, including one very cute and incredibly kind boyfriend. Whenever I reflect on my favorite moments of the past three years, there is inevitably someone else to share in that memory. Without my friends to share in adventures, margaritas, obnoxious subway rides, strange happenings, funny anecdotes, delicious nachos, nerdy lectures, crematory tours and everything else this city has to offer, my life would not be nearly as full.
I am also thankful for the fruit man who sells me four bananas every Monday morning, and the coffee cart guy who thinks I'm from Russia, and the other coffee lady who knows my order by heart, and the kind gentlemen who say "good morning" when I pass them, and the people who compliment my hair or offer me a seat on the subway. New York City is home to 8.4 million people, and I am so grateful to have some of the very best ones in my life.
The Easy Access to Other Places
Maybe it seems strange to include "the ability to leave it" on a list of reasons I love New York, but I believe to truly appreciate this city, you have to leave it every so often. Since I've moved I've explored more of New York State including Lake George, Buffalo, Niagra Falls, Cold Spring, Hartsdale, East Hampton, Kerhonkson and Sleepy Hollow. I've traveled by train to Washington DC and through New Jersey, taken road trips to Newport, RI, Pittsburgh and Philadelphia, and flown to Ohio, Texas, New Orleans, Chicago and took my first trip abroad (Italy).
The "Welcome to ♥ New York" sign at LaGuardia still gets me, just like it got me when my plane arrived three years ago—the time I realized that I wasn't getting on a return flight to Ohio in a few days, a few weeks or ever if I didn't want to. The time I realized I was finally home.
Meryl Streep
Today is the 67th birthday of the Holy One, Her Royal Highness the one-and-only Mary Louise Streep. This summer also marks the 10th anniversary of my personal Summer of Streep, when in 2006 I decided for really no reason at all to watch all of Meryl Streep's movies. I subsequently amended that to include all recorded performances I could get my hands on, which ended up being quite a lot. It's impossible for me to describe exactly what it is that I find so alluring about Meryl, but I was certainly not the first (and won't be the last) to be similarly affected by her.
So many things about my life (and about me) have changed over the past ten years that I hardly recognize who when I saw The Devil Wears Prada for the first time (or the sixth time). Meryl entered my life at a time when I needed her the most, and I've been able to drop in and drop out of my fandom whenever it suits me. I saw Mamma Mia thirteen times at the theater not because it was a good movie (spoiler alert: it isn't) but because I had just graduated college and I was floundering, at least emotionally. Being able to sit in a theater (once for back-to-back showings) for two hours and forget about myself while Meryl romped around the Greek Isles in linen overalls singing ABBA songs did more for me than any therapy or anti-depressant ever could have.
I have done so many things in my life by using Meryl as a conduit. I planned an entire New England trip around the fact that her daughter was in a play in the Berkshires. Do I remember anything about that play? Not really. But I remember my first trip to Newport, RI and our tour of Mark Twain's home in Hartford, CT and the bad animatronics at the Salem Witch Museum. I remember learning about ghost orbs from a cemetery tour guide and eating pizza in Sandwich, MA. I remember being absent for the set-up of my college portfolio show because I had tickets to a tribute for Meryl at Lincoln Center, and I remember being so incredibly sick that I chugged half a bottle of cough syrup before the show because I was terrified that I'd cough and interrupt Robert Redford or Uma Thurman. I remember Meryl pulling up her bra strap during her speech and thinking "hey, I know what that feels like," and I remember sleeping on my friend Jessica's couch somewhere off the L train in a neighborhood that I'm sure is trendy now, but at the time terrified me.
My friend Trent and I probably owe our friendship more to our shared love of all things Streep than to anything else, and I will not soon forget the weekend that we spent following her to various promotional events around town for Hope Springs. Sure, she waved at both of us, but what I remember most about that trip is how much fun we had together. The only reason I remember the drunk texts that I sent during The Devil Wears Prada drinking game we played is because there was evidence, but I do remember going to multiple stores to find lemon bar mix because we wanted to make Lemony Snicket bars and Hope Spring(s) rolls. But most of all, I remember that earlier in the day, I sat under the cherry blossoms at the Brooklyn Botanic Garden and decided once and for all that I needed to move to New York.
I loved New York before I loved Meryl, but the two are so linked in my mind that it's hard to make the distinction anymore. Of course I remember her once-in-a-lifetime (or in my case, twice-in-a-lifetime) performance in Mother Courage in Central Park, but I also remember my uncle and I looking up Cats That Look Like Hitler on his Blackberry while laying on a tablecloth at 5:30am outside of the Delacorte Theater and laughing hysterically because we were so tired and because cats that look like they have mustaches are funny.
Susan Orlean writes in The Orchid Thief (a book I probably never would have read if it had not been for Meryl starring in Adaptation): "The world is so huge that people are always getting lost in it. There are too many ideas and things and people too many directions to go. I was starting to believe that the reason it matters to care passionately about something is that it whittles the world down to a more manageable size. It makes the world seem not huge and empty but full of possibility."
Without ever knowing it, Meryl Streep whittled the world down to a more manageable size for me, and in the process opened it wider than I would have ever thought possible. She was the reason I went to plays, took trips, reconnected with old friends, bonded with family members and read life-changing books. Of course I could have come at all of those things organically and without her help, but having a starting point was invaluably helpful for me. She'll never know all of this, and that's ok. It's too selfish for me to ever want her to, or to think that it would make any difference.
It's been ten years since I first checked The Bridges of Madison County out of my local library and crossed my very first Meryl movie off my list. In ten years I've lived and loved and cried and despaired and graduated college and succeeded and failed and moved halfway across the country and it's all been a little bit easier knowing that if I'm having a really bad day, I can queue up a Meryl movie and everything will be ok for a few hours.
*I took the photo above on a film camera after standing outside of Letterman in 90 degree direct sun, waiting for Meryl to arrive—I then had to wait the longest hour of my life to see my photos after taking them to a one-hour photo place around the corner, which seems unfathomable to me today*
Happy Birthday Mozart!
For my 24th birthday, in August of 2009, I picked out an insane, strange, incredibly cute gray kitten. We had been looking for a kitten for a while, but I knew I would know in my gut when I found the right one. We walked into PetSmart (I was living in Ohio at the time) and I saw her. She was there with a local pet adoption group. She was solid gray, tiny but long, with huge, bat-like ears and beautiful green eyes. The minute I saw her, I said "that's my kitten!"
We were told that she had been found on the side of the road with her brothers and sisters, all of whom had already been adopted. She was the last one left, and she came home with us the next day. She was my first-ever kitten and even though she didn't sit still, I loved her immediately. She had an ear infection and had probably been spayed too early; she compulsively chewed her foot; she howled in the middle of the night for no reason; she was neurotic and annoying and rude, but she was mine.
Today is her seventh birthday, and I can't really believe she's been with me for almost that entire time (minus her first three months and two months while I tried out New York living). She follows me around, literally eats her toys, sometimes throws up tubes of unchewed food, screams in my face almost every morning at 5:30am, sticks her butthole on everything and once woke me up by stepping in my mouth. She plays fetch like a dog and when we replaced our refrigerator we found 48 cat toys underneath (plus a few bottle caps, twist ties and a jingle bell).
She's always been chatty, but since moving to an apartment where she's now the sole cat, she's become much more vocal. I took her to the vet to make sure she was ok, and paid a hundred dollars to be given a diagnosis of "probable anxiety," with a prescription of cat pheromones, calming treats and puzzle toys. She's the best and the worst cat, but I can't help but love her to pieces. She means so well. It breaks my heart to see her struggle—she's been there for me through break-ups, cross-state moves, three different New York apartments, questionable hair style choices, late nights, early mornings and everything else I've gone through in the last seven years.
Sometimes her ears are so soft and warm I can hardly handle it. Once, I made up a jingle for her: "Who's cute and pretty and gray and smart? It's Mozart! It's Mozart!" We named her Mozart after a long list of options that included Sam Handwich, Pluto and Pamcakes. Mostly I call her my Sweet Pea. Some days I pick her up and tell her she's ruining my life, but that's just me being sleep-deprived and dramatic. I'm pretty sure she stares at me while I sleep, and when she licks me I think she's tasting my face. If I died alone with her, I'm 99% sure she'd start eating me before I was cold.
I bought a door stop just because it looked like her foot. All of my bedding (and a lot of my clothing) is gray because of her. Sometimes her poo smells terrible, even though I'm feeding her the exact same food. She loves sticking her face in my food, and once she licked my hot sauce bottle and immediately regretted it. She steals change, dollar bills, bottle caps, rubber bands, pieces of string and chewed holes in my sweaters when she was a kitten. She has no idea what to do with real live mice. She refuses to wear costumes, but I once bought her an Egyptian Pharaoh headdress just in case. She's beautiful and regal and velvety and her fur smells really good. She's a fan of the hard pet, still compulsively chews her foot on me every chance I let her and greets me at the door with a chorus of screams.
Of course I can imagine a life without her where I blissfully sleep until my alarm goes off and where everything I own is not covered in cat hair, but then she rolls on her back and flashes me her bedroom eyes—which I know is totally manipulative but I fall for it anyway—and I'm so glad we adopted each other.
Thirty, Flirty and Thriving.
So I turn 30 today. I love birthdays (other people's as well as my own) so even if I like to joke about losing my desirability or being officially old, the big 3-0 isn't really that big of a deal to me. I do like celebrations, reflections, milestones and round numbers—and since my birthday falls on the last day of August, it's always felt like a goodbye to summer, which means fall is coming and who isn't happy about that?
I recently revisited this silly list I made when I was but child at the age of 27, and found that, as of today, I have accomplished 13 out of the 30-by-30 goals I had set for myself. Some of the accomplishments were big ones (moving to New York, going to Europe), others were easier but even more wonderful than I imagined (Newport, Sleepy Hollow, Cat Power), and others are things I can keep on chipping away at (trying new foods, paying off my student loan debt).
It's interesting to look back and see how much I've changed in just three short years—I no longer think marriage and kids are in the cards for me, and I'm totally ok with that. My life barely resembles the one I had three years ago, and that's ok too. I'm definitely getting more patient in my old age, and I know that whatever my life is like in the next three years—or even in the next thirty—it will be wonderful because I have that choice. There will be heartbreak and heartache, disappointments, failures, steps forward and steps backward. But I've learned in my 30 short years on this planet that I can take the high road. That my own life improves when I'm kind to others. That you can't avoid hurting people, but you can try your best to limit that hurt. That I just don't feel right with long hair. That I'll always hate cilantro, and people will always argue with me about it. That life is messy and annoying and complicated and hard, but then I bite into a perfectly ripe peach or Meryl Streep waves at me and I know that it's all so, so worth it.
As silly and at times misguided as that list was/is, it's still nice to be able to look back on how I felt at a particular moment in my life. I'm not going to make another list, but that doesn't mean I don't have goals—most of which involve travel of some sort. I want to go back to Europe, but there is so much to see in the States. I've planned some very epic road trips that hopefully become realities quite soon, but when I think of my current life, there's not much about it that I would change. Of course it will change—and so will I—but that's all part of the fun.
My Twelfth Month as a New Yorker
I began my twelfth month as a New Yorker taking a ferry to the Statue of Liberty with three of my best friends on the most gorgeous summer day—and it only got better from there. We had amazing weather in June, with a lot of rain during the week but every single weekend was picture-perfect. By the end of the month I think I can definitively say I was "paraded out" after attending both the Mermaid and the pride parades. I visited cemeteries, saw amazing shows, ate wonderful food, drank delicious iced coffees, went on adventures, read creepy books and had some of the best weekends I've ever had.
A few more highlights from my twelfth month:
We climbed to the top of the Statue of Liberty and peeked through her crown / We ate ice cream on Ellis Island and took in the spectacular view / I waited in Central Park for Shakespeare in the Park tickets (Much Ado About Nothing) and then won the online ticket lottery the same day / I went to Gravesend, Brooklyn and continued to see black cats in the creepiest places / Trent and I went treasure-and horse bone-hunting at Dead Horse Bay and then explored Floyd Bennett Field.
After a long adventure day, Trent and I rewarded ourselves with a DiFara pizza, made by the man himself and it was totally worth the three-hour wait / I went to the New York City Marble Cemetery, which is only open a few days a year (not to be confused with the New York Marble Cemetery across the street), and had my first tiny meat pie at Tuck Shop / I visited the Poe Cottage in the Bronx and then walked around Fordham University to hear the bells that inspired Poe to write The Bells / My wonderful coworker, Francesca, gave Mozart an inflatable unicorn horn to thank me for watering her plant while she was away—spoiler alert: Mozart didn't love it / I rode Metro North for the first time to Hartsdale, NY to visit America's first pet cemetery where I laughed at the names and cried at the sentiments.
I caught the rose garden at the New York Botanical Garden in full, spectacular bloom / I finally saw the Coney Island Mermaid Parade—and Dante deBlasio's afro!—both of which were amazing / I considered riding Coney Island's newest rollercoaster, the Thunderbolt, but chickened out / I saw a very long and strange Russian film (Solaris) at the Museum of the Moving Image and explored their collection of movie memorabilia (including Meryl's Auschwitz wig from Sophie's Choice!) / I became mildly obsessed with spotting the Mister Softee knockoffs, Master Softee, and saw three (possibly four) of them in one day / I visited the Morbid Anatomy Museum and Library in Gowanus on opening day and immediately became a member.
I crossed another historical home off my list and visited the Old Stone House in Brooklyn / I had an amazing slice of rhubarb crumble pie at Four and Twenty Blackbirds in Gowanus / I walked through Brooklyn and stumbled on a street with amazing ghost signage / I spent a few blissful hours wandering around the stunningly beautiful Green-wood Cemetery / I bought a Cleopatra wig and put on my favorite cat-face skirt for a Prince of ShEgypt rooftop pride party / I ate breakfast at the adorable Donut Pub (Patti Smith used to write there) and teared up at all the love and support on display in the pride parade.
What really stands out most about my eleventh month, however, isn't a specific place or a thing, but the people I spent it with—I currently have the pleasure of calling some of the best people I've ever met my 'friends' and they continue to amaze me with their generosity, sense of adventure, humor, kindness and all-around awesomeness. I know my blog posts (and photos) are mostly devoid of a human presence, but that actually isn't at all representative of my life here. New York is a wonderful place, but without my incredible friends it would just be a city—with them, however, it's my home.
More Recaps:
First Month | Second Month | Third Month | Fourth Month | Fifth Month | Sixth Month | Seventh Month | Eighth Month | Ninth Month | Tenth Month | Eleventh Month
My Eleventh Month as a New Yorker
After a slow start in April, the city really started to come alive again in May. It seemed as if the tulips, cherry blossoms and beautiful blooms would never get here, and then it started to seem as if they would never leave. Then suddenly they were gone, replaced by greenery that, thanks to a few substantial storms, has made summer feel as if it's here to stay for awhile.
I spent a lot of time in the outer boroughs, returning once again to the Brooklyn Botanic Garden (finally catching the cherry esplanade in bloom) and making frequent visits to Queens, home of so many World's Fair and diner delights. I was finally eligible for health insurance at work (boo waiting periods!), saw Sarah Jessica Parker speak, partied like it was 1994 with the Counting Crows, walked by Katie Couric during my morning commute, skipped an Ingrid Michaelson concert I really wanted to see because I just didn't feel like dealing with a crowd of people, saw Mario Batali and his Crocs at the Domino Sugar Factory and stalked Martha Stewart in East Hampton.
In short, May was nothing but delightful from beginning to end — a few more highlights from my eleventh month as a New Yorker:
I bought a taco change purse at a work rummage sale for 50 cents / My commute through Central Park every day was almost too beautiful too handle / The Conservatory Garden tulips were super late to the blooming party, but the Brooklyn Botanic Garden was a hit as always, with their tulips, desert collection and cherry blossoms (finally!).
I visited Astoria Park, with a beach made of glass and wonderful bridge views / I tried on some wigs and discovered a bizarro version of myself / I did (the chilly and windy) Walk MS and raised $1k for Multiple Sclerosis Research (a very big thank you to everyone who donated or walked with me!) / I continued to fall even harder in love with the crazy tulips popping up everywhere / I couldn't resist a petal-covered manhole cover.
My beloved cherry blossoms started to fall and still managed to look beautiful / I spent a rainy day at the movies (Neighbors was hilarious) / I got my mom the best Mother's Day card ever made / I continued my diner adventures at the Airline Diner in Queens / I took what may be my very first "jumping" photos with the best of friends on a sunny rooftop, right before we watched the sunset over the Hudson.
The Conservatory Garden tulips finally bloomed, and they were beautiful (although not as good as two years ago) / The wisteria was unreal / Coworkers who bring donuts are the best coworkers / I got new glasses from Warby Parker and made use of the (free!) photo booth in their new Upper East Side location during my lunch break / I celebrated the fifth birthday of these crazy cute grey bunny feet (and their loud and annoying but wonderful owner, Mozart) / I spent a lazy Saturday wandering around the Brooklyn Flea and Fort Greene Park.
A group of us went to the World's Fair 50th Anniversary Festival, where I finally realized my dream of seeing the Unisphere fountains turned on, toured the amazing New York State Pavilion and saw the Batmobile (and BatPhone!) / My coworker, Francesca, introduced me to (the incredible) Molly's Cupcakes and I bought a few for her birthday / I sniffled my way through the newly-opened 9/11 Memorial Museum and had the best mail day ever (Mozart approved).
I spent a rainy Saturday at a surprise party for Francesca on the UES and walked home across the park just in time to catch a beautiful sunset over the Reservoir / I attended a rooftop BBQ in Brooklyn with amazing views and delicious treats / Jim and I spent Memorial Day pretending to be fancy in East Hampton, where we visited the most beautiful cemetery, hung out at the beach and I went home happy with a pocket full of vertebrae (and sea glass!).
I went to see Grey Reverend at Rockwood Music Hall and he was amazing — so was the stamp they used on my hand / We went to see the Kara Walker exhibit at the Domino Sugar Refinery, then over to Roosevelt Island (Jim's first time!) for some tram action, the always-amazing Smallpox Hospital ruin and Four Freedoms Park.
Growing up, summer was always my least favorite season, but I think New York is changing that. I can safely say that I now love all four seasons equally, even if there's really no use in hating any of them — they'll all happen eventually with my permission or not. I definitely don't feel as if I missed out on any spring activity or colorful bloom, so I feel fully ready for all that summer has to offer — free movie nights, park picnics, bench naps, beach days, outdoor dining, rooftop drinks and a few very exciting trips outside of the city.
It's hard to believe that I only have one more month left before I've officially been a New Yorker for an entire year and can stop counting my time here in months. Of course, that doesn't mean that I'm going to stop having adventures — believe it or not, I'm just getting started.
My Tenth Month as a New Yorker
April was the first month during which I actually started two separate Facebook albums to accommodate all of the photos I took on my various trips and adventures. I only spent two of the four weekends in New York, but that didn't stop me from making the most out of them. The other two were spent in Texas and Ohio visiting friends and family, which was wonderful but also served to remind me just how much I really adore being able to call New York my home. I also had four days off during the week for Passover, which is a delightful perk of working at a Jewish organization.
The city definitely started to come to life during the past month, even if it has happened much slower than normal and there's still quite a bit still left to bloom. Spring is the last "uncharted" season in the city for me — I've spent two winters, part of summer and one entire fall here thus far, but my spring trips were few and far between and I left at the beginning of March last year. I went to the Brooklyn Botanic garden twice in April and I've still yet to see the cherry esplanade in bloom — if their map is to be believed it still has a few days or even weeks to go before it reaches its peak. I'm definitely trying to make the most out of this prolonged blooming season and surprisingly I've yet to pet spring to death although I'm sure it will happen soon enough.
A few more highlights from my chilly but colorful April:
I randomly walked by a phone kiosk ad that I designed on the Upper West Side / Jim and I went to the Brooklyn Botanic Garden and found that not much was in bloom but the Bonsai Museum was a delight as always / We went to Tom's in Brooklyn, and admired their naturally occurring rock speakers / I visited the First of three cemeteries of the Spanish and Portuguese Synagogue and stumbled on another cemetery in Manhattan that I didn't even know existed.
I continued my love affair with the bubble-makers in Washington Square Park and watched as hundreds of people celebrated International Pillow Fight Day / I crossed the no. 4 stand-alone diner off my list and saw Ice-T as we were leaving / I participated in the Big Egg Hunt all over New York and braved the crowds for Macy's flower show / Jim and I got coffee and photo-boothed (his first!) at the Ace Hotel.
I went to the last of the three cemeteries / I continued to be oddly obsessed with pretty manhole covers around the city / Jim and I walked the High Line / I met Jim and his friends from the UK at the most amazing rooftop bar where we watched the sunset over the Empire State building and drank embarrassingly expensive cocktails / I crossed the last stand-alone diner off my list - Star on 18 / I went back to the High Line where the wildflowers were just starting to bloom.
I finally found my favorite egg- one made from street signs in TriBeCa / I spotted an ad I designed in the TriBeCa Trib / Jim and I took his friend from the UK (it was her first time in the US!) on a tour through Central Park where I spotted the best group of tourists and some delightful blooms / We went to opening day of Coney Island, rode the Wonder Wheel for free and I ate my first Nathan's of the season.
I finally got to see the New York Marble Cemetery and we had a drink (or four) afterwards at McSorley's Old Ale House / I had a few days off for Passover and went to Tom's in Brooklyn for pancakes and coffee, and then back to the Brooklyn Botanic Garden to check on the blooms— the cherry trees were breathtaking / I visited the Brooklyn Heights Promenade, which is always perfect.
The Empire State building was lit up like an Easter egg / I went to Texas for Easter weekend to spend time with my sister, brother-in-law, niece and their incredibly adorable new rescue dog, Penny / We stopped to take photos in a field of bluebonnets, dyed Easter eggs, visited the flower mound in Flowermound and I had my first-ever Butterbeer (it was kind of gross/good?).
As soon as I got back from Texas I dropped off my luggage and headed right back to Queens for the 50th anniversary of the opening day of the World's Fair, where I tried (unsuccessfully) to get into the New York State Pavilion and discovered even more remnants of the fair / The cherry trees along the reservoir in Central Park finally started to bloom / I went back to LaGuardia once again on my way back to Ohio with some recent library scores / I made cookies for 427 Design's open house party / I managed to squeeze in a cemetery visit during my short Ohio trip, to Glendale in Akron.
I definitely teared up a little landing back in New York when I realized I was home / I spotted (and smelled) my first lilacs of the season in Central Park and made the Conservatory Garden part of my morning (and evening) commute / I waved hello to the lone yellow tulip in the Park Avenue median of tulips every day on my way to work and ate my lunch under the blooming cherries / I had my first-ever chicken and waffles at Sylvia's in Harlem and loved it.
I have a lot of fun plans for May and the rest of the summer and I'm hoping that the weather cooperates. I'm planning on heading back to the BBG this weekend to check on the cherries and I definitely need to make time for the NYBG as well. I read a blurb in New York Magazine that warned of the Farmers' Almanac prediction that New York is going to "feel like Louisiana" this summer which I'm alternately dreading and looking forward to.
I can't believe that my one year New York-iversary will be here before I even know it — it feels like just yesterday I was booking my one-way ticket without a job or a place to live. Well, now that I've been here longer than it would have taken to fully gestate a real life human being I think it's safe to say that I couldn't have dreamed of a better outcome — it's all so much better than I ever imagined, and improbably getting better every single day.
My Ninth Month as a New Yorker
I know I'm starting to sound like a broken record with these month recaps, but guess what? March was pretty awesome. In fact, my life is pretty much all-around awesome. I don't say that to brag or to sound like some sort of super human who is above sadness or failure or general unhappiness — I most definitely am not that. But, I'm also just really, really happy — in New York, at my new(ish) job, with my friends, with the adventures I've taken and the ones I have planned.
Sometimes, I catch a glimpse of my reflection as I'm walking to work in the morning and I realize that I've essentially become (or am very, very close to becoming) the person I've always wanted to be. It's a really odd realization actually, and sometimes it's downright scary to admit to yourself that you're happy — it can feel too fragile, too precarious, too intangible.
I have always had a hard time living in the present. I'm always looking back on what I've done or planning for the future. I still struggle to live in the moment, but I'm actively trying to force myself to be present, to be thankful and alert and to allow time in my schedule for aimless wandering. I made the choice more than ten months ago (and in some ways, long before that) to start actually living my life the way I had always only ever dreamed about. It's a strange feeling when your real life and your dream life start to align, but I don't want to miss one second of it.
A few highlights from my very happy March:
I walked by one of the few remaining free-standing phone booths / I creeped on Kathleen Kelly's apartment from You've Got Mail before returning to Cafe Lalo for my first "meal" after being sick / I took a Sunday walk across Central Park to the East Side, where I picked up Ladurée macarons (my first!) for an Oscar party / I met Grace at the Lexington Candy Shop for lunch (and a very necessary milkshake).
I fell in love with the skull-themed tombstones at Trinity Churchyard cemetery in lower Manhattan / I walked around downtown and spied on the new World Trade Center (but I didn't sneak to the top) / I explored the Lower East Side before taking a tour at the Tenement Museum / Jim and I had our first (and second) knishes at Yonah Schimmel, in business since 1910/ Daylight Savings time allowed me to walk home through Central Park and finally catch beautiful sunsets again.
Mozart continued to be the sweetest animal on the planet / I took a warm, sunny bench nap in the de Blasio's backyard / I attended a lecture on urban cemeteries and then found a skull bead on my walk to work through Central Park the next morning / A brochure I designed was printed / I continued to discover amazing and different manhole covers — this one was across the street from my apartment / I explored Trinity Cemetery and Mausoleum, the only active cemetery left in Manhattan.
I found an awesome coffee shop in Hamilton Heights and had a life-changing almond cookie / I tricked Alisha into taking a windy adventure with me to the Little Red Lighthouse and signed up for Walk MS to raise money for the National Multiple Sclerosis Society / I walked past the most amazing apartment building every morning (a former cancer hospital) / I totally scored in the dollar section at the Strand / I visited the oldest tree in Manhattan / I discovered the prettiest manhole cover in the middle of a lawn in Central Park.
I tried to walk to work as much as possible and found out it was nearly 2.5 miles each way / Jim and a co-worker of mine took a candlelit ghost tour of the most haunted house in Manhattan, the Merchant's House / I crossed another stand-alone diner off of my list / I spent a wonderful, wandering Saturday checking out flea markets, watching a bubble-maker in Washington Square Park and visited the smallest cemetery in Manhattan.
I got my fortune from a sidewalk Zoltar in the East Village / Trent, Jim and I went to the Orchid Show for a glimpse of spring / Jim, Katie and I were tourists for a night and ate at the Hard Rock Cafe in Times Square (we made reservations) / My friend Melissa visited from Ohio and we walked the Brooklyn Bridge in the rain (her first time!) and ate pizza with ziti on top / I spent a lazy Sunday lounging with my favorite gray lady.
I'm going to go out on an optimistic limb and say that I think this winter is FINALLY coming to an end due to a forecast that has the temperature in the 50s for the foreseeable future (much appreciated). I already have a few trips planned for April — Texas to see my sister and then back to Ohio for a weekend — and my to-do, to-see, to-eat and to-read lists just keep getting longer and longer. I am totally loving my new camera and I can't wait to finally see (and photograph) my beloved cherry blossoms again. Even though it snowed yesterday, spring is so close I can taste it — and it tastes like a Cadbury Egg, which coincidentally, I am eating as I type this.