Wednesday, March 30, 2016

get back up again.

Three months into the year, and I finally made a New Year's resolution: don't just be grateful, express gratitude. Send "thank you" notes, tell people you appreciate them -- even if the people helping you may not have honest intentions, still: say "thank you."

Everyone deserves some fucking kindness.


That, and more lessons from the month:

Sunday, March 13, 2016

blogging, candidly.

“As a writer, even as a child, long before what I wrote began to be published, I developed a sense that meaning itself was resident in the rhythms of words and sentences and paragraphs, a technique for withholding whatever it was I thought or believed behind an increasingly impenetrable polish. The way I write is who I am, or have become, yet this is a case in which I wish I had instead of words and their rhythms a cutting room, equipped with an Avid, a digital editing system on which I could touch a key and collapse the sequence of time, show you simultaneously all the frames of memory that come to me now, let you pick the takes, the marginally different expressions, the variant readings of the same lines. This is a case in which I need more than words to find the meaning. This is a case in which I need whatever it is I think or believe to be penetrable, if only for myself.” -Joan Didion, The Year of Magical Thinking

Sunday, March 6, 2016

when it loses its shine.

The McDonald's on the corner by the subway is gone. I don't know how long it's been boarded up, which is surprising because I walk past that corner at least once a day when I get off the 1 to head home.

But Friday, I took the 1 down to work — instead of my normal B/D route — and saw the corner in daylight. It couldn't have been a deconstruction that took place overnight.

I wonder what else has changed while I stopped looking, while my head has been down and buried in work. Somewhere between getting off the bus at Port Authority and March of 2016, my inbox and messages went from fun to buried by needs (I know we barely talk , but can you hook me up with a job? Can you cover this story? Can you meet my friend and give him a job?).

When did coffee dates and dinners go from catch-ups to business transactions?


I get it. This is the bed I made. Somebody the other week asked me if I regretted trading a personal life for success. The question wasn't intended to be blunt, but it was jarring to have it laid out for me like that. At the end of the day, those sixth days at work and weekends spent freelancing were worth it to get me where I am now. I don't regret that. I don't regret it when New York City still feels temporary, and so the idea of roots in a concrete jungle make no sense.

But if you could lay the regrets I do have next to each other, they would circle Central Park.

Tuesday, March 1, 2016

26 going on 27.

Hey -- so I tend to get sucked down these rabbit holes online when I can't sleep. A couple of weeks ago, I was looking for an old email address in my Gmail archives and I came across an email from you that led me to another email and then another one and then a Gchat transcript and then links to posts on my now defunct Tumblr page.

Sorry, I'm having trouble getting to the point -- mainly because I've had a lot of points swirling around my brain for awhile, and I'm not sure which one is the most articulate for me to write down right now. Maybe none of them are.

The reason I'm writing this is because I'm turning 27 tomorrow. This is significant because -- well, let me rewind a bit first.