Found this in an old journal about my first year after college when I moved to New York City.
MY YEAR ALONE
Breaking into the work world is trying. Moving to a new city is hard. Leaving friends across the country is lonely. Now try doing all of these at once. New York is not exactly the kindest of cities. It is selfish, and hard, and insulting - but wonderful as well. It is true what they say about the energy here. Anyone can feel it. It captivates you.
On a schedule. My commitment to work. Not torn between a million people and activities. I live alone. Not just my own room - but my own apartment, on my owns street, in my own neighborhood. No one I know for miles...literally. I have the greatest fireplace and loft bed and wood floors. High ceilings too. Since the leaves fell from the trees I can see the statue of liberty from my living room window.
A real quiet life I lead. I Listen to music, work, write, try to play the guitar, cook, read, and I actually sleep sometimes. After graduation I was blessed with five months of freedom and time. It was during this time that I worked hard on my writing, learned to knit, read a lot, and made decisions as to the course my life would take upon returning to the United States. I narrowed my options to the Peace Corps - or New York City. Quite opposite ends of the spectrum actually . But to have whisked myself off the the corps - I would have been expecting it to mold me - give me purpose - and extend my life as a traveller.
I needed something to make me learn. Force me to look inside, to look around and try to deduct some meaning in this world. I wanted to be a part of the work reality. So I came to New York. To learn about life and my limits and business. Amidst the concrete -lives every level of human existence. Poverty. Wealth. And so many struggling young people. And I live here.
Walking over the Brooklyn Bridge with Kim and Chrissy - friends from Burbank who came to visit.
Me and Nancy on the roof of my apartment in Brooklyn Heights.
