Tag Archives: career

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An Ageless Bond

Standing in the fitting room of a trendy boutique in the West Village today, staring at myself in the mirror in an overpriced $105 cotton blue dress with embellishments, I had an ache in my heart for no one other than my mother.

Considering I’ve been out of grade school for quite some time now, and the whole “back-to-school” shopping trip ceased when I hit college, every Fall, my 20-something self misses spending a few hours at the mall with my mom. She used to set a budget and then let me go at it – jeans, sweaters, leggings, bras, shoes, school supplies, and anything else I needed was up to me to pick out. She’d go around holding up things that she thought would be “cute” and the older I became, the more I went against her suggestions and went with my own.

Maybe some have mothers who want them to wear turtlenecks and long skirts that cover every possible inch of their body, but my mom was never like that. She’s actually one of the best critics – she’ll be honest about how I look and she’s queen of selecting pieces that flatter my body. She never told me to hide my curves, but to dress for them. She should know how to do that after all – she’s the one who gave them to me. While we may disagree on certain picks, I trust her the most on fit, and I value her sweet sentiments over anyone else’s.

Our Girl’s Days Out weren’t limited to pre-September though, it was always our thing to do monthly. Sometimes we’d just go bouncing around to thrift stores, try a new restaurant downtown, and once I became an adult, I started dressing her instead. Since she’s been walking or biking a few miles daily for as long as I can remember, my mom is in great shape and for a 50-something (sorry mom!), I’d say she’s pretty smokin’.

But she doesn’t always think so. And she has to be reminded that wearing tight clothes isn’t out of the question in your middle-age, that being sexy doesn’t disappear because wrinkles appear, and that she deserves new clothes too. After spending a vast majority of her life treating me to special things and taking me on shopping trips, she often forgot herself – but now it’s her time.

She started esthetician school today and I couldn’t be more proud. I waited anxiously by my cell phone for her to get out of class, wondering how her day was and if she liked her classmates. She was nervous about the transition from working to taking a chance on something she’s always been interested in. Accounting is far from waxing and beauty treatments, but with her gentle touch and fiesty entrepreneurial-spirit, I’m confident that with a degree, she’ll be unstoppable.

While I was happy for her bright, new beginning, I was sad that I wasn’t there to share it with her. To treat her to a new outfit to wear to class that flatters her style and the softness she exudes without trying. To split a bottle of wine and chat about what she liked and didn’t, and dream up what kind of salon she would open up. To just see her beaming and brave, being the woman I’ve always known was inside of her, but she was afraid to face.

It’s funny how tables turn and how eventually, we end up parenting out parents a bit. Or maybe they just become our friends because they’ve been befriending us our entire lives. And just like they have to with us or we have to with a childhood friend that can’t come along for our ride, we have to learn how to let them go. How to support their new endeavors that don’t involves us or our day-to-day lives that don’t include one another, or the goals they’re reaching that we can’t quite see. How to stand on our own and let them stand as well.

How to pick out our own clothes with our own money for the brand new job we sought and found, while they start a brand new chapter of their lives by returning to school. How mothers continue to learn just as much as daughters, and how closing your eyes and sending a hug from the big city to the sweet countryside may seem impossible, somewhere, you just know she can feel it, too.

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When the Caged Bird Flies

Sitting in the West Village today at a miniature Brazilian restaurant overlooking Bleeker, sipping coffee that was just a bit too hot, reading New York magazine, I looked outside and thought to myself: “I wish I could put this feeling into words.” I’m not convinced I can, but I’ll try.

I’ve concluded that there are these periods in your life of great sorrow and doubt – where you mourn yesterday and though you’d like to hope for tomorrow, it seems far-fetched and like a fantasy. It’s almost as if thinking about the months ahead seem like a daunting ordeal, something to tag on the bottom of your to-do list, along with mediocre tasks like sweeping underneath furniture and dusting window seals. You experience disappointment and then you consume it, mimicking a caged bird with beautiful feathers that just yearns to fly so badly that it can’t sit still, until it tires and ultimately retires to pouting on a perch.

But its beauty isn’t gone, it’s just put on hold for a period so it can rest and recuperate and attempt to soar the next day, when maybe someone will open the door to release it into freedom.

That day always seems somewhere in the distant future, in a place that’s shadowy and paved with gloom on a road that’s rocky. The map leading there seems practical enough: work hard, believe in yourself and memorize as many names and faces as you can, and you’ll find your footing. You’ll be released out of captivity and into that brave new world you seek – your wings flapping with that uncensored ambition in the great unknown.

And while you probably head too far South when you should be shooting North, and you ignore the rules to take a detour that seems sexier and easier, you eventually find the way out. You wake up one day with a shiny attitude and shop for a new purse to go along with it. You accessorize your happiness the way you would your favorite outfit, pairing it with happy hours and dinner dates, tooting your own horn as loudly as you can, but remembering to be as gracious and humble as possible through all that glee. Everyone you know tells you how deserving you are, how proud they are, and your elders in the industry remind you that being tenacious only works for so long, eventually you’re older and instead of someone being surprised by your age, it just becomes natural. You should be brilliant and on top of your game in your late 20s, so play up that youthful spirit while it’s raw.

You fly through the streets wearing a blue dress and heels, carrying that confidence with big, powerful, bold steps, and you smile at strangers, tip a little more when you dine, and finally, feel at ease. Suddenly you’re singing the praises of your fate and serenading the universe with notes of thanksgiving, humming a sweet little tune that bubbles inside of you when you savor this fervor.

And that’s what it is – a romantic happiness. It’s warm and simple, understated to the world, but overpowering inside of you. It makes everything else seem ordinary and yet, you feel enriched by the extraordinary direction you’re suddenly allowed to go. You can’t even entertain thoughts about other parts of your life that maybe aren’t so fabulous, they suddenly seem unimportant and a waste of your energy. You’d rather think about this shine instead of giving any time to something sub par.

You revel in your company, not only of the fancy footsteps you’re following, the tailwinds for others you’re creating, but the friends who sat next to you in that awful little cage or fed you slivers of mango from outside, reminding you that one day, you’d be free again. It’s that happiness that you find when you’ve reached a goal or you’ve reached a level of comfort in your own blue-suede shoes that will soon switch from so-four-seasons-ago to hot off the redesigned shelves at Barney’s.

That fight from fearful to faithful is a long one. But you remember that without that fight, there can be no magical flight. Without resting those wings, they’d never be able to radiate in the sun or survive opposing winds. Or to sit peacefully in the good graces of the heavens and on the good side of yourself, cherishing this joy for all its worth, knowing that moments like this one and days like these don’t come around too often. They are brief and easily forgotten when the clouds gather and the sun retreats away again.

Trying to put this feeling into words or bottle it up to take a sip when we’re going through that rough time again, when our vision is challenged by horizontal bars of adversity is wasteful wishing. The point of such romance isn’t to hold onto it for very long. The best of flings and the highest height of passion are meant to be tawdry and temporary, concealed behind blushing cheeks and rouge lips, only brought out when temptation tempts or dreams most unbelievably actually come true.

Nor fighting or flying can last forever – but as long as we can make our way through each of them without losing our heads, or more importantly, our hearts, then we’ll get to keep the most precious gift either of them can give us. The beauty of a romantic happiness and the knowledge that being a caged bird isn’t so bad. If we’re never made to sit still, we’d never realize the opportunity the spread those colorfully wounded wings and try out a new bright, blue sky.

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A New York Week

Well folks, I’m beside myself. I have a full week to do whatever I please in this busy, rainy city and I’m drawing one huge blank. With so many options and not wanting to go over my budget too badly, what in the world should I do?

I figure this is one of those rare opportunities – in fact, I can sorta feel it. When else will I have time off to just be one with New York, without obligations, without planning a trip, or preparing for something life-altering like surgery, pregnancy, marriage, etc. This is really a time, in my 20s to go exploring the place I love without worries. Freedom is funny that way though – when you have so much of it, where do you begin?

I’ve been down to the Pier and I’ve taken a cruise on the river. I’ve seen the Statue of Liberty, I used to work in Times Square. I used to live near the Flat Iron building and I’ve waited more times than I’d care to admit in the Shake Shack line. I’ve toured Central Park, soaked up the absent sun on the Great Lawn and swung on a swingset for kids on my way out.

I’ve been to every museum I have an interest in going to; Bryant Park continues to be one of my favorite places in Manhattan.

I’ve went shopping in the West Village and waited in another long line at Magnolia’s. I have a library card but don’t really use it; I’ve been to Tiffany’s and Macy’s, Saks and Bloomies, and even stomped on the big piano in FAO Schwartz.

I’ve pretended I was Eloise at the Plaza, I’ve walked the highline and will soon work near it. I’ve gone clubbing in meatpacking, made friends with college kids in the East Village and Union Square, and hung out with the gay hubbies in Chelsea.

I’ve sat in the middle of Columbus Circle, looking downtown, dreaming of the future, and on top of a building in Williamsburg gleaming at the city at night.

I slept on a couch in Park Slope and sat outside eating Lobster Mac N’ Cheese near Wall Street. I’ve seen more than a few Broadway Shows, ran the West Side Highway, and walked across the Brooklyn Bridge. I’ve met some celebrities, interviewed a handful, and enjoyed the baking talents of one.

I’m a regular at St. Patrick’s Cathedral, where I light a candle for me, for you, for my family, for my friends, for the world. Mr. Possibility works in Rockefeller Center, so I’ve visited consistently. I’ve been to several fashion weeks, even bringing a friend along for the ride thanks to a friend who invited me.

I’ve paid my respects to 9/11 and pretended I could afford anything in Soho. I’ve battled China Town and welcomed free wine in Little Italy.

I’ve been stuck in the rain trying to catch the uptown one train after a tireless day of touring the city with a friend, but took it all in style anyway.

I’ve jumped through fountains in the middle of a ‘Welcome to New York’ boozy brunch with a friend of mine and without shame, sported my super pale legs.

I’ve enjoyed the beauty of New York dining, including free passes to pop-up restaurants where everything is cooked outside and made deliciously, including a wine bottle coincidentally filled with water.

I’ve discovered the art of the ice cream cone in the middle of a hot August afternoon and how actually, there is such a thing as too much whipped creme.

I’ve been on countless dates, shared a few kisses on doorsteps, and loved only one in New York so far – and with him, the possibility, been caught having a moment at an event.

I’ve had the luck to gain experience in interviewing folks on camera, including on the rooftop of an apartment building I wish I could afford to live in smack-dab in the middle of Chelsea.

I’ve enjoyed the city in all of its seasons: drenched in sweat in the summer, preparing for an unexpected storm, inhaled the colors of fall in Central Park, enjoyed my favorite, the lovely tulips in spring, and even made it to see the Rockettes.

And ice skating at Wollman rink…

And surviving my first experience seeing a live, male stripper (giggling and shock and all)…

And city views from The Boom Boom Room to rooftop hotel bars with my favorite people on Earth…

But through it all – I’ve had one thing that New York is best at: making me smile and giving me a life full of people that make the city what it is…

Home…

So what do I do with a week off – when I already feel like I have it all?

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This Little Light of Mine

When you move from a peaceful, quiet small town to the big city, everyone has an opinion to give and advice to share. They’ll tell you that New Yorkers are rude and brittle, the type of people who are self-centered and egotistical, raised with the mentality of cold, brutal urbanites. These city folk wouldn’t be kind and accepting like the South teaches, New York and its people would swallow me whole if I didn’t fight them every step of the way, proving that I belonged here, too.

I never really believed them though – I was always under the impression that New York gives you what you give it. If you expect disrespect, you’ll find it, if you’re fearful of crime and deception, you’ll face it, and if you think people are up to no good, then you’ll meet those people. But if you approach New York believing that there will always be goodness crossing your path and blessing your way, then you’ll find yourself happy and confident, living the way you could have never imagined.

Because really, being a bitter being is dependent of geography. There are cruel intentions inside of each of us, it’s just that most people allow the sun to shoo away the shadows. There will always be those who are oblivious to the luxuries they enjoy that most do not, and those who are profoundly thankful for all that they’ve earned. New York hasn’t been perfect, and of course there are dangers that loom and precautions you have to take to be safe. It’s not about where you’re located, it’s about being realistic and smart.

I’ve recently received a second wind of admiration for this place – it suddenly feels different. Or maybe I feel different. I’m starting a new amazing job soon, I’m enjoying the company of my friends, and soaking up all those life experiences I’ve always craved. I have an extra kick in my step, a better attitude and a stronger appreciation for all the luck that’s found me. The city seems fresh and new, but I don’t anymore. Instead, I feel like I finally belong. It’s not just a dream anymore, I’m living my reality. And best of all, I worked hard to create it without losing hope or faith in my abilities.

So I’m smiling more these days. I’m taking more time to inhale the buildings and the scene, as well as the characters who flood the streets. I take a stroll instead of rushing on the subway, I treat myself to afternoons sitting under an umbrella with a glass of wine and a new book, watching passerbys and being overly gracious to waiters. The summer will soon pass and then the fall will arrive with its bold colors and cool airs, making all the struggles I’ve faced lately dim memories, simple reflections of the path I picked for myself. But for now, before the next chapter unfolds in this brilliant waiting period, I’m learning to just be.

To take my mother’s advice and remember that I only have to take one step and then another, the rest will work itself out. She’s right – it always does, it always has, no matter how much I’ve thought it wouldn’t or simply couldn’t. It is in the darkness after all, when you’re worried that everything everyone said about New York may in fact be true, that you learn how to let your light shine. You figure out how to keep it flickering and more important, how to breathe new life into it when the old wick isn’t applicable anymore.

And there are always people there to remind you – like today, when I took the uptown train after a glorious breakfast at Ciprani on Fifth and boarded with a group of fellas harmonizing their rustic voices to “This Little Light of Mine.” After the song was over and they were starting to exit, an old man when a crinkled face and sunglasses on, bent over and said, “You have a beautiful day, gorgeous,” and unlike I ever do, I actually thanked him.

Because he recognized, just like I have recently, that after much delay and much hesitation, I’m letting my little light shine. And ya know what? It’s shinin’ mighty fine.

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To Call it Home

Yesterday, I joined the happy tourists with sneakers and fannypacks at Rockefeller Center. I was feeling especially happy and particularly pretty, and as it rarely does in August, New York was cool enough for me to sit for a while without sweating my weight. Just as it blew the flags of every country, the city breeze tossed my hair and dangerously ran my skirt up my leg. I barely noticed anything around me though – other than the fact that I was so damn happy, I could barely stand myself.

Though my level of obsession with NYC has been out of hand since I was seven, it isn’t always easy living here. There are reasons why Frankie says if you can make it here, you can make it anywhere. He doesn’t just mean in showbiz or in being successful in the career you pick for yourself, but just surviving. The cost of living is significantly higher than most hometowns newcomers come from, and while you save money by buying groceries, those groceries are not only more expensive, but far less appealing than the dozens of restaurants that send amazing scents into the streets every minute. To make it here, to start on the journey that makes you a New Yorker, takes a lot of patience. It requires you to fail continuously, to succeed randomly, and to trust in whatever process is happening.

Sometimes, you find yourself sitting alone in the small room you pay so much money for, staring at your dwindling bank account, fearful of what the next few weeks will hold, and you wonder why in the world you came here. Those thoughts are hard to shake when you feel like you’re at the end of your rope or your heart is starting to get that city-toughness you hoped it never would. I’ve faced them – if I had not decided to major in journalism, if I had stayed in North Carolina, if I had gone another path, if I had never moved more than an hour away from the house that made me, what would my life be like? Would I be married with children? Would I have an actual mortgage and responsibilities that aren’t selfish at their core? Would I be a different person?

Would I be happy?

Maybe I would be. Maybe if different things fulfilled me. Maybe if I never had the feeling that I was destined for something much greater than what I can even imagine – maybe then. Maybe if I hadn’t grown attached to taking chances and barely getting by. Maybe if I hadn’t braved the city and fell in love with it. Maybe then I would have been happy in the country. Maybe I could convince myself to find peace in the ordinary, without striving for the extraordinary.

At those low times, I can almost believe that moving back to where it’s easier seems like the right decision. But then those high times come. Then that phone call that I had been praying for actually comes through. Then the city captures me in midtown, sending friendly smiles and good weather my way. Then that smile that I was missing for months becomes impossible to erase. Then the answer that I was waiting for becomes the answer I really wanted, even if I tried my very best not to get my hopes up.

And then, there I am, playing the part of a walking cliché, listening to New York, NY in my new shoes, making eye contact with handsome strangers and grinning a grin that came from my own hard work. There I am, looking around at the city that knocked me down a few times and realizing it wasn’t up to New York to make anything happen, even if ole’ blue eyes makes it sound that way.

It’s always been up to me to make my life what it is. The city is just there for some moral support and some really killer inspiration. It’s what it is, it’s New York – and it’s worth every struggle, every downfall, every dollar lost, every everything – to call it home.