Happy Anniversary to New York City and me

(I wrote this post on my three-year anniversary in New York City — January 27, 2010 — but didn’t get around to posting it then. A couple days later my mom reminded me that I moved to New York on January 26 — and she would know, because it’s her birthday. Regardless of the date, the feelings are the same).

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Three years ago today, I moved to New York. It was the day after my mom’s birthday. My family and I woke up very early in the morning to say our goodbyes. I cried a lot. My dad and I went to the airport. I was thankful that it was dark because I couldn’t stop crying. Then my dad and I got on a plane to New York. A few days after that, I cried again when I said goodbye to my dad. Then I opened a gift my mom had sent with my dad, the book “Love You Forever,” and started crying even more. Moving to New York meant a lot of crying for me and I wondered what I was doing to myself. Growing pains are hard.

Three years ago I moved into my first apartment with a stranger in Williamsburg, Brooklyn. I started my first real job. I wore tennis shoes to work and then switched into heels (eventually I ditched the heels, but I was totally Melanie Griffith Working Girl for awhile). I picked out which health insurance plan I wanted, even though I really didn’t understand the process. I filled out forms for my life insurance beneficiaries — my best friends and my sister. I hoped I wouldn’t die by getting hit by a cab or mugged by one of the 15,000 scary people out on the streets or internally combusting from all the noise or catching a rare disease from touching a subway pole.

Three years ago, I moved to a city where I knew only two people — my cousin and a friend from college, Lindsey. I got confused on the subway and sometimes wound up on Canal Street when I thought I was going to Times Square. I wanted to cover my ears because everything here was so loud. I said “Excuse me” when the situation called for it and people looked at me funny. After depositing my first paycheck, I bought my first iPod.

Three years later I am living with my cousin in an apartment that feels like home. I’m a pro at navigating the subway. I still get excited when I see celebrities. I’ve actually been tapped by a cab when I was going through a crosswalk and managed to walk away just fine (though with some nasty bruises). I realized that the people here aren’t scary, just different from the people I grew up around, that their vibrance and diversity is what makes New York City the way it is. The magazine I worked for ran an article called “25 Reasons I Love New York” compiled from reader submissions. This one particularly sums up what New York means to me too:

I love New York because it’s inconvenient. It makes you work a little harder. It wears you out. It forces you to interact with life. With the street musicians. With taxi cab drivers. Hot dog vendors. Hipsters. Baristas. Pigeons. Trash. Trees. Graffiti. Flower shops. Coffee shops. People riding the subway. People riding bikes. People talking on cell phones. People talking to themselves. You can’t hide from life in New York. Poor. Rich. Dirty. Ugly. Hungry. Spectacular. Honest. Unforgettable. I love New York. Unconditionally.

Three years seems like such an incredibly long time ago, especially considering all that has happened in the last six months. I was laid off (on my dad’s birthday). I started a freelancing job on my birthday (starting to notice a trend of life events coinciding with birthdays…). Then I traveled for five weeks. Had jury duty for three weeks. Was able to spend a solid amount of time at home for the holidays. I dog sat.

Three years later I am unemployed, trying to find a job that will keep me happy and keep me in New York. Funny the irony that life throws at you sometimes. Now I’m trying to figure out what to do with the rest of my life. Suggestions and job offers welcome. Just try me. All ears over here. I think there are jobs out there that I would love, but I don’t even know they exist. I’m open to a new experience, preferably one that pays all my bills with leftovers to fund my retirement, buy eclectic picture frames and purchase a unicorn.

Today I felt an intense urge to clean out my closet. I’m spending most of my days hunting for jobs, hopefully the next place where I can meet new people who will eventually become my friends and a place where I can learn new things, and if it happens to be somewhere I can see celebrities, well even better. But the hunt can be pretty overwhelming. So I decided I needed to clean. That whole feeling that maybe if I get my closet in order, everything else will have an easier time falling into place.

And what did I find but the customer receipt from Bank of America from when I deposited my first paycheck. A paycheck for seven days instead of the normal 10 since I started mid-week, which initially freaked me out when I didn’t realize this because the amount was not what my dad had budgeted and used in the Excel spreadsheet that basically said after taxes, health insurance, rent, utilities, student loans and food that I would have a whopping $5 of fun money each month. Thankfully I didn’t spend as much on life as my dad budgeted and I was able to have more than $5 of fun.

I have absolutely no clue what the next three years have in store for me. And that scares me. Because for so long I knew that I wanted to be in magazine journalism. I was on the yearbook staff all through high school and knew I would major in journalism in college. I worked on the yearbook, newspaper and magazine through college and new I wanted to end up at a magazine in New York. By some stroke of magic, I was offered the first job I applied for in New York shortly after graduation. I worked at that magazine for two and a half years, received a promotion, became incredibly close with co-workers and could see my career path clearly charted out. Then I was laid off in August 2009 and everything changed. I remember thinking afterward that the lay off was an opportunity. Which is much harder to grasp now that my career path is waiting for a new direction, one that I can’t chart out at the moment. For as long as I thought my future was in magazines, this economy is making me think otherwise.

But if these first three years here are any indication of my next three, I will make it through everything good, bad and scary just fine, thanks to my friends, my family, a couple cries and a good run.

Best of 2009 recaps

A word that encapsulates your year? Unexpected. The magazine I worked for went through massive layoffs in March. Then I got laid off in August. My parents got a second dog. I was a freelance designer for the first time. Then I traveled for five weeks. When I returned from Costa Rica, I served on jury duty for three weeks, after which we found two men each guilty of four counts of murder and five counts of criminal possession of a weapon (dear readers, please stay away from MySpace and Far Rockaway, Queens. Thank you). And I finally succumbed and got a smart phone (not an iPhone, mind you, but I’m in love with it nonetheless).

What’s a gift you gave yourself this year that has kept on giving? Blank notebooks and pens. Even when I have writer’s block, there’s still something magical and therapeutic about backing away from the computer and putting an actual pen to paper.

Did you meet someone you used to only know from her blog? Senior year of college, I had an inkling to work for a magazine in South Africa. In the midst of my research, I came across Bridget McNulty’s blog. I followed her for quite awhile before finally sending her a note, because more often than not, the things she was writing about were the same things I was pondering. When she came to New York in May to promote her book Strange Nervous Laughter, she suggested meeting up. I about peed my pants.

When our lunch date finally arrived, I wore one of my favorite dresses, a light blue button-down with pockets and a sash at the waist. I told my then-boss (hi Amy!) that I had a dermatologist appointment during lunch and might be gone a little longer. I felt like sneaking out of school as I met Bridget and her friend Dan in the West Village at a little French restaurant called Cafe Henri.

The rest of the afternoon flew by, partially because I was a bit starstruck and still giddy from meeting someone I’d found online who wrote interesting things. I continue to be envious of Bridget, as she and her fiance are traveling the world now. You can catch their adventures over at The Sweet Life.

What advertisement made you think this year? Now that I’m unemployed, I sometimes turn on the TV in the afternoon for background noise while I’m organizing or making lunch. I never knew how many different TV court shows were on the air now. For the record, divorce court is actually pretty entertaining. The episode I caught involved a woman claiming that her soon-to-be-ex, Mr. Norwood, wasn’t nice to her dog. Mr. Norwood claimed his woman treated the dog better than him. Verdict: She definitely did, making steak for the dog but not her husband, and making Mr. Norwood sit in the back of the car because the dog’s car seat was in the front. Yes. Dog car seat. Because apparently the previous dog died when Mr. Norwood was driving and the dog flew out.

ANYWAY, the kinds of commercials that come on during the day are pretty ridiculous, much like TV court shows, and the one that left me flabbergasted was for the Liberator.

There are so many things wrong with this. Like washing a catheter and being afraid to talk to strangers. I am in no way saying that this was the best advertisement of 2009 — far from it. But it’s the most memorable, and shocking. People like this actually exist. And other people think they make good spokespersons. Whoa.

Jacky Carter, Judge of Facts

I’d planned on having all my recaps of Costa Rica up by now, but my plans were rudely interrupted after being called in for jury duty. I received my original summons in July but decided I’d use my one postponement. It was summer and I just didn’t feel like it. Plus, they let you pick when you’d rather have it. I thought October was a solid choice.

As a stand-by juror, I was supposed to call in after 5 p.m. every day for a week to see if I’d be needed the next day. The idea of this annoyed the crap out of me. Lunch plans and meeting babies were put on hold. A few friends had jury duty recently, so I assumed I’d go in for a day or two like they did, then be dismissed.

Ha. Totally wrong.

I had to report Tuesday morning at 8:30. The central waiting room had wi-fi, which obviously made me happy. I was able to read e-mails and blogs that I hadn’t had time to that morning because I had to be there so early and I had no idea how the commute would be.

The theme of the day was waiting. We waited to hear what was going on. We waited for the TV to come back on. We waited while officers and our leader lady collected our summons (and boy was there mass confusion about what to tear off and who should hold onto their summons). It was such a process with so many people, and I couldn’t imagine having to deal with that every. single. day. At one point, while leader lady was taking attendance for a group, and people weren’t responding to their names, she bellowed “Say ‘here’ like you’re proud of the name your momma gave you.” It made us laugh.

Finally the first group of potential jurors was called early, just to get people out of the central waiting room because it’d become standing room only. About 45 minutes later the second group was called. The whole time the announcer called names, I repeated Destiny Child’s “Say my name” in my head, willing my name to be called so I could just get on with my day.

Surprisingly, it worked. Our group of 75 was taken down the street to the court house, where we then waited in the hallway for more than an hour before being let in the court room. Sixteen people were then randomly picked to fill the jurors box for questions. A couple were quickly let go and I was drawn to replace one.

Before I know it, after I’ve told all the people related to the case everywhere I’ve lived and for how long, what I do, whether I have children and confirmed that I understand common sense, I was one of three jurors picked. Minutes after I’d heard my name, I was being sworn in as Juror Number Three. It took two more days to fill the rest of spots, though we often had no idea what was going on. Sometimes we watched the rest of the process. Sometimes we were sent into a room with no explanation of why we were waiting there or when our court officer would be back for us. I joked we should bring games, solely to see our court officer’s reaction to opening the door to a game of Twister. I also tried to initiate some group bonding on the elevator as we crammed in to the leave building, hollering “Group 23 in the house!” That seemed to go over pretty well.

I have no idea what’s in store for me (besides going all day without Internet, a true struggle for me), but I hope to be able to share more insight once the process is over. For now, I’ve been sworn to secrecy. Which is a weird feeling.