"I would send you a bouquet of newly-sharpened pencils if I knew your name and address. On the other hand, this not knowing has its charms."

Yesterday I watched my number one all-time favorite movie: You've Got Mail. A celebration of all things bookish, autumnal, romantic, improbable and, above all, New Yorky. I love it.



In one delightful scene, Kathleen Kelly writes to her email buddy, "Once I read a story about a butterfly in the subway, and today, I saw one. It got on at 42nd, and off at 59th, where, I assume it was going to Bloomingdale's to buy a hat that will turn out to be a mistake - as almost all hats are." I loved watching that scene for the millionth time, but this time I know that those are stations on the green line, just south of the Upper East Side, where I live, though I also know that most of the movie is set on the West Side, so she was probably riding the blue line - except the Bloomingdale's is on this side. I know exactly what the streets look like at 59th, exactly which way to turn to go to Bloomingdale's - and what's more, I am currently wearing a grey wool hat bought from a street vendor that I think is turning out to be a mistake.

Elsewhere in the movie, Kathleen writes, "Sometimes I wonder about my life. I lead a small life. Well, not small, but valuable. And sometimes I wonder, do I do it because I like it, or because I haven't been brave? So much of what I see reminds me of something I read in a book, when shouldn't it be the other way around? I don't really want an answer." That line has always plucked a slightly nervous pang in me, one of the many lines in the movie that I could have written (blogged), and, ironically, I've often wondered, about this movie in particular, how much do I relate to it because it reflects my life...and how much has it shaped my life because I've watched it seven times a year for a decade?



My heart is full of the same children's books Kathleen discusses throughout the movie; I even worked in a children's bookstore - well, at least the children's department of Barnes & Noble, which was obviously the model for Fox Books. I even wear the same well-meaning, sort of classy but more often slightly librian-ish tights and sweaters in the same earth tones that Kathleen wears throughout the movie. I'm clumsy and not very poised and I walk kind of funny and get too attached to the past at the expense of enjoying the present and being wise about the future. And, yes...I've read Pride & Prejudice a hundred times. Now that I'm in New York, the third member of the movie's love affair, it fits me even more.



At any rate, now I've been brave. I'm seeing myself in this movie even more because I live on the streets Kathleen loved, and yes, this movie surely encouraged my lifelong dream to be a part of this city, but now that I'm here, I know which came first. I know I loved the movie because I belong in its world. My life might still be small, but it will be small and brave and full of valuable risks.



Some have complained that this blog has been too joyful and pontificatey lately, claiming to miss the good old entries about my highly embarrassing moments or rants about trivialities. I'll see what I can do. But no promises. I quite like the joy.

Our Sea-Washed, Sunset Gates

New York is a busy, expensive, glamorous city, but the best things so far have been nearly free and very simple, like the feel of the wind in your hair.

Roomie outing. Best ever.

Yesterday my roommates and I rode the subway down to Battery Park City and walked up the waterfront. It was the most beautiful day that has ever happened this close to the end of November, and the late afternoon sun gleamed twice, in the sky and again on the surface of the water. The weather was warm in the sun and brisk in the wind, but with hot cups from Starbucks and a shared packet of cinnamon almonds, we were perfectly happy.



Then we rode the Staten Island Ferry across the bay, past the Statue of Liberty and back. On the way there, the sun was gold and strong; on the way back, the sunset splashed timid pink, then lazy orange, then a more audacious pink across the waves and the skyscrapers that were waiting for us to return to Manhattan.

The air-bridged harbor

Keep your storied pomp; send these to me.

The boat ride was invigoratingly cold, because we claimed a prime spot on the hurricane deck. With only the orange railing between us and the waves, the wind had its way with our hair, and we loved it.



The seagulls were clearly boastful that they spend most of their days floating on the breezes around the statue. They didn't want to share their view of the city, the island, the state across the way, and dived into our pictures at every chance, but we just laughed at them and kept clicking. The sky was too blue and the buildings too sharp and bright to worry about a few ruffled feathers.

These seagulls live the best lives ever.
Except for ours.

Laying your own eyes on a famous sight is a bit surreal. Sometimes it's hard to appreciate the moment because you're so used to seeing it on the screen or in pictures, and there's nothing to make it real - nothing to convince you that this your retinas are seizing this image for themselves, no intermediary. But Lady Liberty, this day, with the wild free wind and the riotous colors all around, reached up her torch for all the countries of the world and for us alone, just across the waves. This was feeling alive, this was being a part of America in a way that voting booths and concealed muskets and constitutionally protected speech will never be.

Worldwide welcome - Read the inscription.

We were surrounded by tourists marveling in all languages, and we kept grinning at each other, because this is our home now. They're here for the weekend; we can take this boat ride any time we want, because this is our backyard. This was an exceptional day, with the perfect beams and blues and breezes mixed together on the canvas, but next time will be amazing because it will be starlit, or it will be snowy, or it will be springtime.

King of the world. Better than kings. Us!

I can't wait for tomorrow.

The Habit of Habit

I live in New York now. I’ve been saying that for about three weeks. Sometimes I’ve lived here forever, but then I look up and I’m lost, and I remember that I’m new to this city. I’m new and I want to see everything.

I’ve already been to Central Park more times than I can count - passing through, several times; for a morning run, twice; and for a long sunny November afternoon of exploring all on my own, just once - so far. This weekend I talked to a college friend who grew up in the city. She had never been to Central Park, not really. I was shocked, but I shouldn’t have been.

My roommate spent a summer interning in my old hometown. Sometimes we talk about Detroit, and she’ll ask me, “did you do this? Ever go there? You know that one building?” And I’m a little embarrassed at how often I have to shake my head. “No. Tell me about it.” Why is a girl from Wyoming teaching me about the city where I spent my first 25 years of growing up?

Because we all find our own little nooks within even the smallest community, and we return to these same claimed corners over and over, neglecting other treasures just around the block. I’ve been to the big, glorious main library on 42nd and Fifth three times so far. And I’ve passed the Yorkville branch just around the corner from my apartment lots of times, but never been in. I’ve been to the same 24-hour pizza place at my doorstep least a handful of times, and never to the vegetarian, organic pizza place just one block further down. This is not because I don’t want to pay for fresher food, or have a bias against vegetarianism - I went to Figaro’s once, and it was good, and I haven’t bothered to go anywhere else. Yet.

Thank goodness that as much as human beings are slaves to habit, we’re also creatures of variety. For every seven times we stroll happily through the same rut, there’s at least once or twice that we scream, “I’m so sick of this” and lurch out towards something new. If we like it, we gladly expand ourselves to include it and forget it we were ever strangers. If we don’t like it, we feel proud of ourselves for trying something new, and flee gladly back to the forgiving arms of our habits.

I’ve been here three weeks and I’ve already got a rut. Less than three weeks, really, and I’ve already got habits. I already say, “Oh, I don’t like that place” and “well, I always go here” or “my roommates and I usually this or that,” forgetting that I haven’t even seen the moon’s full cycle over my new city. Everything is too new for anything to be entrenched.

Isn’t that great, though? My mind may be earnestly seeking habits; my patterns of speech may be falling into accustomed phrases; but my will still has time to choose the very best. I can consciously incorporate the highest, the most exciting, the most worthwhile into my daily rhythms. There’s still time to make sure that when I settle into a groove, it’s a shiny, fluid one.

Central Park is Going to the Dogs

This town has the best behaved dogs in the world.

A very cultured doggie.

I ran this morning in Central Park (and, yes, it was every bit as delightful as it sounds). Apparently it was National Dog Day, or something, because the Park's trails and lawns were full of dogs out for a stroll and, most concerningly, unleashed dogs bounding around.

At first I was horrified - I think dogs can be cute and fun, but I am also pretty scared of them, having come to expect uncontrolled personal space violation from canines. The prospect of trying to jog through a sea of unfettered Labradors, Shepherds, terriers and hounds was daunting, especially on my first real city run. Whenever I neared a group, I braced myself for an onslaught of fur and drool.

Pups spied during my ramble last week.

But this was like some kind of nightmare cum utopia - Not one dog ran up to me, jumped on me, pawed on me, nosed me, licked me or barked at me. Their human consorts never even had to call them back. Some dogs eyed me inquisitively as I passed, but pretty much left me alone, even courteously moving to the side a few times to leave my path free. Even the rubber-ball-chasing pups stayed at a gentlemanly distance.

And I enjoyed watching them frolic over the leaf-speckled grass, muzzles joyfully agape, tails frantic, coats gleaming in the autumn morning sun. It was funny to see the pugs trundling forward self-importantly, thinking they were as fast and as noble as the golden retrievers, funny to see little white fur balls charge yappingly towards unimpressed but gracious Great Danes and Dalmatians.

Little dogs are funny.

I did see a few dogs that were wearing clothes, but that is more the fault of the owners than the animals themselves. And I saw a few that looked like rats on a leash, but again, they shouldn't be shamed for a decision of God's in which they had no say.

So on the whole, my canine experience this morning was overwhelmingly positive. Bravo, dogs of New York. Bravo. You're worthy ambassadors for your species.

The Time Has Come, The Walrus Said...

...to talk of many things, of boots and books and coffeepots and subway trains and kings.

Ok, no kings. Unless you count me.


I have received criticism, of late, for not updating this blog more frequently. Apparently it is not allowed to be enjoying my new outrageously fabulous life if I'm not recreating it here for the rest of you. So let me quickly bring you up to speed.



This week I wrote cover letters, explored Fifth Avenue, revised resumes, walked around 30 Rock, drank coffee, ate in Chinatown, revised cover letters, went to an off-Broadway show, drank wine, ate quiche in a French cafe in Chelsea, wrote resumes, found free books on a front stoop, haunted Craigslist, drank coffee, visited the New York Public Library's cathedral-like main building (after all, books are my religion), rewrote cover letters, participated in a Rolling Stone photo shoot for TWLOHA Day, reconstructed cover letters in a wine bar while the cute bartender plied me with free drinks, revamped resumes, met Jhumpa Lahiri, bought a coffeemaker, toured the Museum of Art and Design on Free Night, fine-tuned cover letters, saw a guy throw up on the 4 train somewhere between Bowling Green and Wall Street, updated resumes and drank coffee.


I am doing my best to live up to my inner Carrie Bradshaw, and not just by visiting the site of her wedding. I attended my first-ever designer's sample sale and bought a pair of gorgeous brown boots that I can't afford. They were such a steal, though, and so damn beautiful, and I NEEDED them.



I'm also living up to my inner Kathleen Kelly. I have an interview at Barnes & Noble on Monday - a partial WOOT, for a variety of reasons, but mostly because I do still love Barnes & Noble, deep down inside. And the store where I'm interviewing is nearby, big bright and beautiful, and they want me for the children's department. I can't wait to wear tights and turtlenecks and skirts, read stories to kids in New York City and cry about Noel Streatfield while sitting at a table that's too small for me.



There's lots more to write about, but some of it needs to be thought about first, like the reactions I get when I say I'm from Detroit, and how inspiring Madeline Albright is, and my new and dangerous obsession with hot dog vendors. So let's just all keep living and meet back here in a few days to laugh about it.

Home Sweet Studio

I’m settled in to a charming studio on the Upper East Side, above a bagel shop, two blocks from the subway. Of course “charming” is a euphemism for “tiny,” “uneven floor,” “grated windows” “views of walls” and “noisy radiator,” but it also means exactly what the dictionary says – "extremely pleasing or delightful; entrancing." The building has an elevator, and beautiful ironwork banisters, and laundry in the basement. And our “flat,” as we like to refer to it, boasts hardwood floors, ceiling beams and a brick wall, as well as a triangular yellow bathroom, newish refrigerator and newish kitchenette.

Moving Day!

And me and my two roommates (yes, you read that correctly – two roommates in a studio. It’s just what you do when you’re young, broke and fabulous in the big city) have been hard at work to make it even more delightful. The apartment doesn’t feel as minuscule as you might think. We’ve painted two walls a gorgeous mossy green, which presents a striking contrast to the glowing hardwood, bright brick wall and dramatic ceiling beams. We proudly describe it as a two bed room flat, in the strictest sense, because the main room is home to two queen size beds.

Not yet painted.

And we’ve furnished very carefully. Now I’m going to let you in on a little New York City secret: Never buy furniture. At least not when you’re young, broke and fabulous. Trade in your sense of snobbery for two strong arms and you’re ready to shop at NYC’s least exclusive homegoods boutique: Le Curb.

Apparently, New Yorkers not quite as young or as broke as ourselves find it easier to abandon their furniture at the curb rather than move it across town. Stroll around the Upper East Side on any night of the week and you will find a smorgasboard of sturdy and appealing furniture, free to all comers. Not new, perhaps dusty, but if you want it and can take it, it's yours. And, as Mr. John D. Rockefeller said on the plaque at his Center, thrift is essential to well-ordered living.

Store-bought. Such a newbie.

This isn’t the easiest shopping you’ll ever experience. Carefully assess the weight and bulkiness of your find, divided by the number of blocks you have to traverse, before deciding you can’t live without the item. Learn from our example:

Our Shoppers: Twenty-something women of average, slender build, measuring 5 feet, 5-7 and 5-10, respectively.

EVENING ONE

Items: Vintagey cardtable, IKEA bookshelf and wirework wastepaper basket
Distance: 4 ish blocks
Presumed Difficulty: Low
Outcome: Successfully carried table and wastepaper basket; bookshelf grew heavy, was dropped several times and fell apart halfway through.
Actual Difficulty: Medium

No men necessary.

EVENING TWO

Items: Four raw wood IKEA stacking shelves
Distance: 10 ish blocks
Presumed Difficulty: Medium Low
Outcome: Wrestled shelves home with many rests and repositionings; some shoppers sustained sprains; many bypassers pointed, laughed, mocked, ridiculed, joshed and scorned.
Actual Difficulty: Medium High

EVENING THREE

Items: Large armoire with opaque doors, hanging rod and shelf within
Distance: 2 ish blocks
Presumed Difficulty: High
Outcome: Strategized many ways of hauling armoire, including grocery carts of various sizes and failed attempts to hoist it onto shoulders.
Actual Difficulty: Impossible
Resolution: Passing burly ex-USMC Samaritans, fresh from church, volunteered themselves to carry it for us.

Ok, so maybe not everything you find at Le Curb is useful...

So learn from our mistakes. No matter how much you need storage and lack money, don’t let your eyes outpace your strength when you’re visiting Le Curb. Keep an open mind, though, and you might find the answers to your home decorating needs – We have a few remaining items on our shopping list, but our dear little two bed room flat is turning out quite nicely. Come visit!

Big City, Little Gidding

Today I had brunch at 80th and Madison Ave with a new friend who shows promise of being a great friend, then wandered over to explore Central Park.



It's a beautiful day - so extravagantly, outrageously bright and blue and crisp and colorful and beaming and ancient and new all at the same time, overwhelmingly perfect for a girl who loves Fall. I explored by myself, climbing up to Belvedere Castle, wandering around the Great Lawn, listening to a cellist in the tunnel by Bethesda Terrace, watching a breakdance show on the Upper Terrace.



If you came this way,
Taking the route you would be likely to take
From the place you would be likely to come from...




And I was (am) so happy. Beyond happy - not just the absence of melancholy, not just a shallow condition of enjoying the present moment, but the kind of deep down solid content overflowing happy that only comes when you know you're where you're supposed to be. The oneness that you experience when want and should are the same thing, when you're no longer searching. When some ineffable part of your soul finally meets up with the rest of you. So happy, that it feels unfair - I'm worried I'm taking more than my share. Like it's not allowed to own this bliss.



It would be the same at the end of the journey, If you came at night like a broken king, If you came by day not knowing what you came for, It would be the same



Of course I am still searching, in a way. I still need a job. And when I have that, I'll need a permanent place to live. And I still don't know for sure what I'll ultimately do here - my first job will lead to the next thing and the thing after that, until at some point I'll be in the right place at the right time doing the right thing - and then I'll just explode, because today, I was (am) so quietly elated even though questions linger and fear hovers and doubt is laced through the sense of arrival.

And what you thought you came for
Is only a shell, a husk of meaning
From which the purpose breaks only when it is fulfilled
If at all. Either you had no purpose
Or the purpose is beyond the end you figured
And is altered in fulfillment.



But I know I'm where I've always wanted to be. I know the risks I'm taking and will continue to take are slowly winding towards the right thing - towards some minor destiny. If I can be this happy with so much left undone, what will happen when those doubts and fears and questions have melted away? How will I stay in one piece?! I can't wait to find out.
All shall be well and all manner of thing shall be well. Joy joy joy.