Manhattan-- Relationship Status: It's Complicated

The train whistle blows as I pass through another no-name town, filled with lush greenery and gemstone houses, hugging the glassy waters of the Hudson River. I'm heading Upstate to visit my husband who is away for the summer on a gig. After a full week, I'm grateful for an escape from the city that I didn't know I needed. 

The first time we moved to New York City was during the hottest, most humid week of 2009--August 25 to be exact. We were newly engaged, myself having just graduated from college and my husband about to embark on the journey that was Juilliard graduate school. His student loans, Monopoly money as I like to call them, paid our rent on a modest one-bedroom apartment at the northern most tip of Manhattan. As most newcomers do, I immediately loved the city for all of its diversity and the possibility of adventure that lay outside every set of pinging subway doors. Not long after we settled into our cozy home, the next stage of New York City newness happened: I loathed everything about the big, rotten apple. The once exciting subway rides were now monotonous. Instead of opportunity, the screeching train doors only opened to a rushing throng of desperate people pushing past, oblivious to common courtesy. Depression and resentment crept inside me and took up residence. In the city of eight million people, I felt side swiped by intense loneliness. That, and everything smelled like urine.

Two years later, I found friends, a job, and enclaves of the city that supported me in the midst of the most arduous transition of my life. Then we left. I surprised myself by missing the city and the world we carved out for ourselves amidst the bustling crowds of funny talking, slightly-callused people.

My husband and I made two more cross-country moves before our recent return to Manhattan. I was eager to move back to the city that was so full of light and life. I came here this time around determined to have the quintessential twenty-something experience of living in NYC: 1 part "How I Met Your Mother", 2 parts "Friends". Everything was going to be different this time. We had good friends, I had a shiny new job with a company I loved, the colorful lines on the MTA map actually meant something to me, and—most importantly-- we wanted to be here.

Again, I was blindsided by a range of contradicting emotions. Pride, a sense of accomplishment, excitement, happiness, anxiety, despair, nostalgia, anger, and hurried, very hurried, from the first step off the plane. Add apartment hunting to that mix and you may as well look for me drowning my sorrows at the bottom of my sublet's bathtub, clutching a glass of wine as though it were the true Holy Grail. 

I've realized that moving to and living in New York makes me strong in a way that I can't fully appreciate. I'm constantly uncomfortable and wishing we lived somewhere where money wasn't such an object of concern. Usually, I teeter between admiration of the city's beauty and the readiness to pack up and leave. My monthly trips Upstate have helped ease my nervous system and calmed my mind enough to know that I am lucky to call this crazy place my home. 

At least for now.

This blog originally appeared as a guest post on Party Girl. 

Backward and Forward

It seems the beginning of this new year has me thinking a lot about the losses of the past few years. Both treasured memories and dreams for do-over’s with precious people. It seems there is a perpetual wish for the other side's proverbial greener grass when you lose a loved one. If it was quick, you wish for time to have said goodbye. If time only brought weakening and illness, you wish for sudden tragedy to spare the pain. Either way, it seems, there are words left unsaid. If given the chance, would you say them?

Would you tell your uncle that he taught you how to snap your fingers and whistle a tune?

Would you share the piece of wisdom or stretch the hug a bit longer if you thought it might help your friend?

Would you express gratitude to your friend's father for the lessons in faith and generosity that you learned from his passing?

Remember the sound of someone's laugh? 

Ask for the family recipe?

If I could, I'd return to the moments that passed too quickly. Savor the good meals and take an extra bicycle ride together.

Alas, I cannot. I can only go forward with the memories I have, the mistakes I've made, and the lessons I've now learned. It's all we can do, really. Keep going. 

I think the idea of "forward" is going to be my word for 2014. Growing and reaching deeper into my life to find fulfillment. I'm a very future-oriented person so most of my day is spent in preparation or anticipation of the rest of my tomorrows. While forward promotes action and drive, I also think of it as the culmination of all the moments before this one that created the inertia to keep going. It means simultaneously appreciating the backward in order to properly move forward. I wish to live in a forward motion while appreciating and remembering the people and experiences of before that set me on this course.

"...we'll take a cup of kindness yet, for auld lang syne”.

Tickle Me EMO

After a three week hiatus from job searching, I'm back at it. A few hours into searching job postings, researching companies, and Googling “recruiters in Pittsburgh” too many times, I’m already over it. 

The unemployed depression is back with a vengeance. It doesn’t seem to matter that I just read a motivating book on the importance of your twenties. It doesn’t matter that the internet cripples boundaries of space and time and that finding a network on the other side of the country shouldn’t feel so difficult. I’m sick of my husband’s colleagues asking what I do and not having an answer of which I’m proud. 

It’s the American way to ask someone, “What do you do?”. I’m guilty of it all the time, especially while in the throes of a ravenous job search. I know that as individuals we have several aspects to our lives and personalities that resonate outside of the office. I realize that what a person does may not always represent who a person is. Quite frankly, I think whatever someone dedicates 40 or more hours a week to says an awful lot about that person. For better or for worse, our professional titles speak volumes as to the type of life we lead and therefore the type of person we are. On the flip side, not having an answer, a title, an industry, or a bloody upcoming interview to this million dollar question makes me feel like a lot less than a million bucks. 

Honestly, I’ve only applied to five jobs since we’ve settled here. I know it sounds like I’m being lazy (and believe me when I say I know there is more work I can be doing on this front) but look at things from my (pessimistic? pragmatic? annoying?) point of view: You’re in a brand new city that is sarcastically described by almost everyone you’ve met. You’re armed with a year old masters degree and a resume full of experiences that suddenly feel a lot more like student jobs than actual professional career building moves. You’re still trying to figure out what you want to be when you grow up. You have this incredible devotion to authentic leadership which makes you feel like you deserve to be selective about companies’ corporate culture. You want desperately to grow as a young professional. Yet every day feels more isolating than the last when you look at the same job postings and see yourself as an empty face to some H.R. representative that you’ll probably never meet because her inbox blocks the front door. 

I’m trying to stay positive and to have patience but the polarity of life in the real world is getting to me today. 

Thankfully, tomorrow is another day. 

Mission Statement

During an emotionally rough time in college (a time which my family of wisecracks lovingly refers to as “the meltdown”) I took a semester off from school and moved home. My dad and some close family friends recommended a seminar called Landmark. If you’ve never heard of it, Landmark basically is a large scale life coaching session that enables you to get out of your head and into your best authentic life. I was 20 years old and feeling very lost when I stumbled into a room full of strangers making jokes about drinking the Koolaid. The majority of the attendees were twice my age and had “real” life issues. I felt that I was merely wandering through college freaking out because I had just abandoned my life dream of singing on Broadway to be a BIG FAT BLANK. 

But something wonderful happend that weekend.

There are moments in time that are so profound and deeply affect the core of who you are. I have often found these moments to be so isolated from the rest of my life that they almost feel like a dream. Strangers in a conference room in Sacramento morphed into a family whose purpose was to listen to each other’s stories, inject inspiration into someone’s darkest corners, and remind one another when we were losing authenticity. It was a big moment in my young adult life and one that came and went in an instant. 

Almost seven years later, my memories of that weekend’s details are a bit hazy. One thing I distinctly remember was having to create a personal mission statement at the end of the session. I can’t believe that I lost my notebook from that time so I don’t actually have my original mission statement. But if I’ve learned anything, it’s that my life’s purpose is not going to be one finite goal written in stone. Like most things, I’m sure it will continue to evolve as I grow.

This move has awarded me another opportunity to fine tune my professional and personal missions as I search for a new job and make a life in a new city. Tonight’s lightning and thunder provided a nice backdrop for (even more) reflection... a.k.a. baking cookies while conducting a mediocre online job search. Instead of feeling guilty for not applying to more jobs or whining that my dream job (read any job) with Google hasn’t just been handed to me, I decided to refocus my personal mission statement. 

Drawing on Google’s motivating and simplistic “Do cool things that matter”, I recreated my vision:

Create positive experiences to transform lives.

Short and simple. I’m trying to remember that there are innumerable ways in which this mission can be achieved. 

Here’s to another day and another chance at getting it right. 

believing in unique

I was challenged to write this for a job application to an awesome company. Turns out 150 words and 150 characters aren't the same thing.

In reality, it was a nice moment of reflection during this time of soul/job searching. So here goes anyway...

I am unique because I believe that I can do anything so long as it’s with the right people. I believe that life is a strand of little moments that link the people, passions, and lessons of our experiences together into one wild ride. 

You’ll find me singing in the car, imagining my dream home, and baking all the time. I picture myself both as a suit-clad executive and as a denim-wearing apple orchard owner. Because I believe in the power of hard work and transformational leadership, I know that there are infinite possibilities for success.

I hope for the best but prepare for the worst.

My friends are my family and my family are my friends.

I am unique because I believe there is no such thing as work/life balance. Rather an exciting, constantly evolving blend of the two into a life lived with fierce passion.  

Some Other Beginning's End

The Bay Area is my forever home. I picture myself driving these roads one day with my kids in the car, having big family dinners at our house, escaping to Tahoe for the weekend, and continually losing myself as I stare up into the quiet trees in the hillsides that are my backyard. I grew up here. First, for 18 years, living and figuring out the who I was to become. Then again these last two years. Moving back here felt the beginning of a new chapter for us. Dan was working professionally for the first time out of school, I was becoming a student again and going to grad school, and we were planning our wedding to begin our lives together as husband and wife. 

Together, we discovered places I'd never been before--treasures along the golden coast. I experienced real loss for the first (and unfortunately second and third time) here. I grieved. Big decisions were made here. My nephews grew inches and miles into young boys. My grandparents aged a bit. My parents became more of our friends. Babies were born and marriages were celebrated. Old friendships were rekindled and new ones emerged. But now, it's time to pack up our lessons and memories and move on to the next big adventure.

We're off to Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania for Dan to join Pittsburgh Opera Company's Resident Artist Program. I've decided to make a career change and will be pursuing education and employment in personal finance. I am 100% afraid of the wake up call I'm sure I'll receive upon arrival in PA. There are so many big life things  up in the air right now that can only be settled by moving forward and doing our best. On the other hand, we are so ready for a change and this is our chance! I am excited to get to know a new city, new people, and a new life as I head into the great wide open of an entirely new career. I'm ready to fall in love with my life again...but I'm never ready to leave California. 

We leave in just a few short weeks for our cross country road trip. We'll be the couple singing along to the radio in a jam-packed old Camry looking into our future. Look for us and wish us luck!

If you didn't catch the title reference to the late 90's Semisonic song, "Closing Time", then you're too young to be reading this blog. As a refresher for all of us 90's kids... 

Welcome Home

It’s been almost two years since I’ve shared any part of my life with this blog. I got busy. I got lazy. I got scared, self conscious. And I got about a million other things that stopped me from putting my fingers on my keyboard and telling stories. Sometimes it feels silly and narcissistic to write a post about myself to share with people who already know me. Yet there are certain experiences or thoughts that seem worth taking the chance of sounding self-absorbed. Life doesn’t mean much unless it is shared with others. Indulge me by letting me share bits of my life with you.

Out of the dozen or so moments worth recounting from the past two years, one lays the foundation for everything else. Somewhere between little girl childhood dreams, high school crushes, and the infinite college “list” of must-have’s, I found and (finally) married my very best friend. After a three year engagement, Daniel and I got married in May of 2012. This summer we’ll celebrate our first year of marriage in the same month that we’ll celebrate five years of being together and almost eight years of being friends. I am grateful every day that Dan asked me on a date during my first semester of college. If we’re being honest, I am also grateful that I said no...a few times. I wasn’t ready to meet the man of my dreams and something inside of me knew that he was it. Still, it didn’t take long for Dan to steal my heart. I made him wait for a few years and then it was my turn to wait for a few months. When we finally allowed ourselves to be together, we knew it was for the long haul.

Marriage, what little I know of it, is indeed that: a long haul. For us, it means weeks, and sometimes months of being apart for work. It means moving to new cities to support our careers. It means sleeping in a double bed at your parents’ house for too many nights to count. It means sacrifice and compromise. As a young couple, it means choosing to grow together rather than grow apart. Sometimes it’s a puzzle with one piece missing. Other times, it’s a favorite old song to which you forgot you knew the words. 

Our marriage so far has been just like our engagement: full of love and full of trials. I don’t think that will ever change, really. Life gives us lemons, we make lemonade. We get more lemons and eat them whole, dealing with their sour tang. There are beautifully easy, good times and then there are hard times that almost suck the life out of you. But we’re still here, still together, and stronger for the trials which we’ve endured. The only thing that matters is that we face life together, choose each other every day, and vow to love and be loved with unparalleled passion.

Weddings, however, are these incredibly short moments in time. They require months of planning and dreaming and then as soon as they start, they end. Ours went by in a flash. I wish that I could go back and relive each minute of that day and of the planning process. If I could do it again, I’d listen more to my mother’s ideas and try to remember the almighty four words of any wedding: Our marriage, their wedding. I’d visit more dress shops and really let myself sink into being a bride. I move fast about 90% of the time and I so wish I would have slowed down enough to really experience every detail of the wedding process. I would have let go of certain expectations of our families. I would have had a receiving line so we could ensure a proper hello and thank you to every guest. I would have paid for a D.J.. I would have gotten ready earlier. I would have cared less about the size of the cake.

But in the end, the food was good. The chocolate cake: divine. My shoes didn’t hurt my feet. The first day of the rest of our lives together was actually rather beautiful.

It had its imperfections, but I can say our wedding was us. Writing our own vows, singing songs together, and sharing our love with family and friends made our day special. The best part of it all was at last becoming husband and wife.

Being with my Dan feels like being home. And that, if only that, is worth sharing.