If G-d's not a tar heel, why is the sky Carolina blue?

Finally, more than halfway through my stay here, I am feeling more at home here in Chapel Hill and starting to write again. Maybe it was a bout of existential anxiety/depression, maybe it was just typical Type-A adjustment time. Whatever it was, i'm glad it is ebbing away. Yesterday was a perfect, "I love Chapel Hill" day. Beautiful clear blue sky, not too hot, etc. I went on campus for a little bit, drove around...as beautiful as Columbia is, UNC's campus....no comparison. But of course, they're very different. Perfect example of why I love it here: I was at Caribou Coffee, and I asked the lady sitting next to me if she could watch my stuff for 5 minutes, as I was just running to the restroom. The place was fairly busy, with students doing work, and she said yes. I went up to the women's restroom door, knocked, and tried to open it. The door wouldn't budge. So I went back, and when I sat down, another girl turned to me and said, "That door tends to stick a lot, it's really hard to open, you might want to try it again." And just as she said that, a guy stood up and pushed the door open and looked over at me. I got up and laughed, and was like, does everyone know about the sticking door? He laughed and said, "Only the regulars."
Or how I was at McIntyre's, and we were all making fun of "50 Shades of Grey," and a customer joined our conversation and mentioned how interesting it was, the differing viewpoints and opinions between the 2nd wave and 3rd wave feminists. Which started a whole new conversation.

I was driving down Franklin St yesterday, remembering the first time I drove down that street, five years ago. Hard to believe that I had no idea how this place would get into my blood.

In other thoughts, there's that whole "book snob" and Steven King thing that went on. If you haven't read it, here's the LA Review of Books piece. This is a salon.com piece, supporting King. Now, full disclosure: I've never read a fiction book by King. The only thing I've read of his is his nonfiction book, "On Writing: A Memoir of the Craft." Which I thought was very good. This debate is exactly what I mean when I say literary versus commercial. This is what I mean when I say Columbia is literary. And while I agree with some points in the LARB piece, like how much of what is published is just really poor writing, I found the article to be really pretentious and obnoxious. I mean, we all have our tastes. This guy loves David Foster Wallace, whom I find to be incredibly pompous. I just didn't see the point in lambasting King and touting his booksnobbery. Who the fuck cares? Read what you want to read. You can't read Great Books all the time. Sometimes you need something light. Sure, we all buy The New Yorker and carry it around, and maybe - maybe - some of us even read it. I know the only time I really read and enjoy it is when Jerome Groopman or Atul Gawande writes something. But I also just as easily love Vogue and US Weekly and Garden & Gun.
Which made me wonder.....as MFA students, are we inherently book snobs? Are we being taught to be so? How does the definition of "literary" evolve, and what writers today are in the midst of changing it?  Why does my program not offer any courses on YA writing or genre writing? (also, side note, why is there a lack of Southern literature/Southern writers? I mean, Hurston, Welty, O'Connor, Faulkner....but that's a whole other blog post). Lots to think about.

Reading: On the Road (The Original Scroll) by Jack Kerouac; The Boy in the Moon by Ian Brown
Listening: The Decemberists, Eisley, Guster, Chris Pureka, Neko Case

ain't no doubt in no one's mind that love's the finest thing around....

I'm listening to James Taylor's "Carolina In My Mind," and without fail, it still - every single time - brings a smile across my face. It still astounds me how much I've fallen in love with North Carolina and UNC. I don't even know how this happened, or why it endures. After 10 months here in NYC, I am glad that I have not completely reverted back to that city girl. I still have my inner Manhattan compass, and I no longer expect people to smile or say hi to me while walking down the sidewalk, but I still make an effort to talk to salespeople and cashiers, and hold the elevator if I see someone getting their mail. And when I go to NC in a week or two, I will, once again, be greeted with strangers striking up conversations at Starbucks or at the library, people smiling and saying hi at the park, running with my running group, and the slower, friendlier life in Chapel Hill. There is something about that that truly warms my heart, literally.  It's funny, I kind of dread going down there, because I know it will be that much harder to come back to Manhattan.

Some things I want to do this summer:
- go to as many "movies and music on the green" as possible
- gluten be damned, eat my southern fried chicken, mashed potatoes and green beans at Top of the Hill
- sit on the rockingchairs at Maple View while eating homemade ice cream
- work on my thesis outside at the Carrboro Weaver St Market
- drink Diet Cheerwine ice cream floats and eat hush puppies (again, gluten be damned) from CookOut
- go to author events at Flyleaf and McIntyre's
- if I run into her, finally get my picture with Jill McCorkle at one of the events
- meet up with my MFA friends at NC State and UNCG
- go to a North Carolina BEACH!!!!! Would you believe I haven't been????

I can't wait.

retail therapy.

I don't know why I've been blogging/posting so much lately. Probably because I need to procrastinate. We're all a little manic right now, as evidenced by tonight's writing workshop and subsequent dinner/drinks with the professor. (In which I had two margaritas....I hate tequila, so my solution is just to gulp. Brilliant, right?). Workshop was filled with tangential conversations and uncontrollable fits of giggling, along with over-caffeinated, overtired, under-rested stressing over papers and work. I think once everything of mine is turned in, and all my conferences are over, I just want to curl up with my UNC fleece blanket and sleep for a week. And then go to Nellie's party that she's throwing for our class. And then I have to figure out my summer. Did you know ONE in TWO current or recent graduates is unemployed or underemployed? This little nugget of information came across my Twitter feed this morning.....makes me feel VERY reassured that I am getting that oh-so-important MFA, right? I comfort myself with the thought that at least I will be doing something I love, and combining all my experiences together to make something good. Surely that must count for something, right?.....right? I'm not sure Sallie Mae, Citibank and Nelnet would agree, though. They kind of like their monthly payments. In cash, not smiles and happiness.

ANYWAY. My point to posting? I love monograms. When I lived in NC, I was in heaven, because if there's anything Southern preppies love, it's monograms. (And Top-Siders. And unironic popped collars. And Jack Rogers.). Hell, people monogrammed their cars. Which is a little much for me. I'll stick with my LL Bean totes and the occasional oxford, thanks. But I have a weakness for monogrammed jewelry, and apparently it's become popular. (Which I didn't know when I ordered my necklace at the end of December, but now they're popping up on blogs everywhere). In my procrastination, I often stumble across fun websites. Moon and Lola make really cute monogrammed necklaces, and they're from North Carolina, which makes me want to like them, but my pink necklace broke. I have to say, they replaced it for free, although now the chain isn't right - but they want me to send it back and are very considerate and want to make things right. I also found BaubleBar, and they have necklaces that are a little bit less expensive than M&L. And, they have metal monogram pendants that are cheaper....and in rose gold. I am a sucker for rose gold. I am eyeing this piece for my birthday.....even though my birthday is in December. And if you sign up for emails, you get $10 off your order. I think this could be a great "you had a great first year of art school" present, too, don't you think? ;)

Also, in honor of my first year of art school almost being over, I'd like to return to something I posted at the beginning of the year. Sadly, life at Dodge Hall is not like this, but even now, sitting outside at a table, writing, I wonder what would happen if students spontaneously started singing and dancing on the steps. I would die. OF HAPPINESS. 

I'd also like to mention the passing of Adrienne Rich, the poet. She died late last month, and it truly was the end of an era. I remember she came to Muhlenberg one year, and I went to see her. Her poetry is beautiful, as is her prose, especially "Of Woman Born," a book about womanhood and motherhood. My favorite poem of hers is "Diving into the Wreck," and it may be one of her best known poems. Here are some lines from it:
I came to explore the wreck.
The words are purposes. 
The words are maps. 
I came to see the damage that was done
and the treasures that prevail. 


the thing I came for:
the wreck and not the story of the wreck
the thing itself and not the myth
the drowned face always staring 
toward the sun
the evidence of damage
worn by salt and sway into this threadbare beauty

staking claim.

I was going to write more over the weekend and the past few days, but have been wicked sick with a cold that has now morphed into a stomach virus-y kind of thing. Apparently it's going around. March 4 was one year exactly that I got the call from Stephen O'Connor at Columbia, asking me to join their program. So much has changed in a year....and it's been rough, no doubt about that. I will be the first to admit I miss North Carolina every day. I miss the people, my friends, the weather, the community, my gym community/tri team - I miss who I am down there. I'm more relaxed, healthier and less stressed. But I am very glad I moved here. I have met some amazing people in my program and look forward to sharing the rest of my writing life with them, even after the program ends. I have met wonderful professors and read more than I ever imagined I'd be capable of. And then read some more. I remember reading Nellie's book last summer and hoping I'd get into her class, and now I'm in a second class with her and consider her an inspiring role model for my writing. These people, whom I've only been familiar with through a book, are now part of my real, everyday life. And that's been so worth it. Funny what a year can bring. Of course, that's also bittersweet - in the days leading up to that phone call, my aunt had sent me a card reminding me not to give up hope, because she knew I was getting anxious at not hearing from anywhere. And now, a year later, she's not here. A lot has changed.

March 5 was the four year anniversary of Eve Carson's murder. I've posted every year about it, but this year felt different. Maybe because I'm not in Chapel Hill, it feels a little more removed.

And of course, this weekend, Duke got an asswhoopin' from UNC. 88-70. On their home court. On Senior Night. HA!!! We lost before, and we weren't gonna lose again. Yeah Heels!!! (It's so funny to try to explain this rivalry to people up here....it's impossible, really. Let's see how they react to March Madness - somehow I doubt I'll find a bracket group going on in the School of the Arts).

Today I went downtown to Soho - it was a beautiful day, and everyone in the city seemed a little more cheerful. You know, in that surly, aloof, Manhattan kind of way. But cheerful nonetheless. Before I felt too sick (with this stomach thing, I feel sicker as the day goes on), I decided to go and walk around. Namely, I wanted to go to McNally Jackson to look at their great stash of lit mags - which was sadly less than lustrous today. McJ is a super cute bookstore on Prince St. It's an indie, and cozy, with a cafe that serves yummy coffee. Today it actually was the least crowded I've ever seen it. (Note to self:come here on a weekday morning to get a table and some work done). I wanted a job there when I moved to NY, but after email-tag, it never worked out. Sadness. I miss working at an indie bookstore SO much. Anyway, I ended up picking up a book for spring break, by Anne Roiphe, called "Art and Madness," a memoir of her writing coming-of-age. The guy who rang me up made a funny comment about it, and said, "Are you an artist?" And you know what? For the first time, without even thinking about it, I said, "I'm a writer." He replied, "Well, writers are artists!" I'm a writer. That may have been the first time I've stated that to a total stranger, without hesitating or thinking.

And damn, it felt good.

on not breaking your own heart.

I am back in New York, after being in North Carolina last week. It was great being back in the South. I visited McIntyre's Books, where I used to work and took home a bunch of ARCs and a tote bag (thanks, Keebe!). I now carry my Algonquin tote bag here in the city as a little piece of home. I went to my favorite touristy place to eat down there, Top of the Hill. It is classic Chapel Hill, and Bonnie and I had our picture taken with some people at the bar decked out in UNC gear and blue wigs (it was a game night, against Miami). I ate a typical Southern meal of buttermilk fried chicken, mashed potatoes, green beans and a buttermilk biscuit. It was delish. My gallbladder-less body was not happy, but I was. mmmmm. Then we went to Sugarland for cupcakes. Before I left, we went to Cook-Out, where I had a Cheerwine ice cream float and hush puppies. And of course, I took back liters and cases of Diet Cheerwine.

My aunt's death has not fully sunk in, I don't think. I was at Barnes and Noble tonight and saw a Hopkins Guide to Ovarian Cancer and instinctively picked it up off the shelf before I realized I had no use for it anymore. And then I felt like throwing it across the store. The Brighton bangles she got me for Christmas clink on my wrist and her Keurig sits in my kitchen. Her phone number is disconnected, although she is still in my cell phone contact list. It has made me think about life and death and dying. When someone dies, what remains? What of their life stays here, with the living? And what about the dead people walking, like my grandmother with Alzheimer's? They are, essentially, living a slow death of self. What remains? Lots to think about.

Classes started today. I am taking 17 credits - a nonfiction workshop; a class entitled "Memory and Morphology," about memory and writing/art and how it changes; a narrative medicine class on Applied Writing - "How We Write/Why We Write"; a nonfiction research methods class that I placed out of but decided to take anyway, to pursue my independent research interest; and a Master Class, which only lasts half a semester, called "Of Women Born: Motherhood in Literature." So I have exciting and interesting classes. And just from today, I left very inspired and feeling like my money is well spent here. In my workshop, my professor told us about recent MFA grads whose books have been optioned for movies, others who just got book deals....she said to not assume we'll immediately get a book deal to pay off our loans, but keep working hard, don't give up on your dreams, and eventually it will pay off. She said something brilliant - "I'm a big believer in not breaking your own heart. There are too many people out there more than happy to do it for you." She encouraged us to stick with it, believe in ourselves and our dreams, and just put in the work that needs to be done to excel. I left classes today feeling recharged and looking forward to the semester. Sometimes I am blown away by the professors and classes here, and today was one of them.

still in NY.

My second week of classes is over. I love them. Like everyone has said, this is an academically rigorous program. Not only do they emphasize writing, but they heavily emphasize reading. It is a little overwhelming, I admit, but I think I can do it. I'm just struggling to find that balance of school/work/relax. Walking onto campus, I am always struck at just how beautiful it is. And how lucky I am to be there.

That being said, I'm still very homesick for NC. I was in Butler Library today, which is the main undergrad library here - it's one of the main buildings on campus, right in the middle, with gigantic Grecian columns. Inside it is a distinguished mix of marble and chrome and tile, with glazed wooden desks in book-lined study rooms. Very "Dead Poets Society." I used to love Butler. And to some extent, I still do. I've always found comfort in books. But today, a gray and dreary day, I could not find a book. The stacks - floors and floors and floors of endless rows of books - were overwhelming, and my eyes filled up with tears so fast I couldn't stop it. I felt completely lost. Even books brought me no solace. Then I went to the coffee shop in the library to get a ginger ale, and paid with my debit card. After the transaction was done, I thought she'd give me my receipt, so I stood there. She looked up and was like, WHAT? I patiently asked for a receipt and she rolled her eyes, gave a big sigh, and made a big deal of straightening up her register before giving me my receipt. I just felt like saying, "There's no need to be so mean."

I was in the school store the other day, which is a B&N store, and went over to the sports section, thinking I'd browse through a Carolina basketball book. None. There were NO Carolina basketball books. Not even the classic Duke-NC rivalry book "To Hate Like This is to be Happy Forever." (Which I originally bought in NJ, not down South). I was shocked. Like, seriously. I stood there, dumbfounded that not a single Carolina basketball book was there. I mean, Carolina IS college basketball.

So yeah...it will be 3 weeks tomorrow that I'm in NY (not that I'm counting or anything), and still having a major adjustment. I still can't get over the cost of living here. It's absurd. I don't even know if I took enough money out for each semester to live on. I don't know how people do it anymore.

Parting is such sweet sorrow.

My 28th Birthday

Last night I ran to B&N to get some coffee, and as I crossed 15-501, I remembered the day I drove down to NC for the first time. I remember only getting directions to Chapel Hill in general, NOT where I needed to be, and we stopped in this car dealership (now a bike place) to ask where the University was. Not our finest moment, I'll admit. I remember going to the mall with Morgan, one of the first friends I made here, to get a pot to make pasta because I hadn't remembered to pack any pots. Every muscle in my body, every fiber of my being, is resisting leaving this place. This is my home, this has become my home. I'm not sure I have ever felt this way about a place. It hasn't always been smooth sailing here - I've struggled a lot here, academically and personally; I got into a major car accident and my Jeep was smashed here not-so-long ago; and my life has done a 180 that I could never have imagined. But what I've learned makes it all worth it.

I've learned that sometimes, your friends are the people you least expected them to be - in both good and bad ways. I learned that "Bless your heart" is NOT a good thing. I learned that people actually still wear Croakies with their sunglasses, and that down here, people pop their collars unironically - preppy heaven, if you will. I finally gave in to saying "y'all" and have found it to be sort of an all-purpose word. I've learned that getting over life's hurdles doesn't have to be neat or pretty or graceful, you just need to get over them. I've learned that foot surgery is not easier the second, nor the third time around. I appreciate Chacos more than ever. I've come to love a good plate of hush puppies or a nice ice cream cone from Maple View. I've given up on having a comfortable Carolina summer, temperature-wise. I've learned that running in the woods can be a holy, magical experience. I know that seeing Oreo cows can make even the worst day good again. I learned that even though I love science and medicine, it does not love me back, and that's okay. I learned to appreciate that our experiences make us who we are, even though when my pcp from Student Health told me that 2 years ago, the PhD rejections were still stinging hard enough that I wasn't sure I entirely believed her. By joining the multisport club, I made new friends and learned that I could try new things at any age, even if I was intimidated. I learned more about unconditional love from the children I babysat - all of them - and from the families that welcomed me into their homes, especially when I had just moved down here and needed a "homey" place. I learned just how fanatical basketball fans can be, especially when I found myself screaming at a tv during NCAA championships. I learned about perseverence and tenacity from school and from not getting into those PhD programs - at the time, I thought they were "failures," and it shook my confidence and my identity to the core for a long time; but they were necessary to set me on the path I was supposed to take. I get it now, the intense loyalty to your school team and strong dislike for your archrival (cough, DUKE, cough). I learned not to take life for granted and to realize life is short from my friend David, who passed away in November. I learned that you can never really have enough Carolina blue in your wardrobe. I learned that turning 30 can be wonderful from my friends who celebrated with me last December. The kindness of strangers, the evolution of strangers to friends, and the Carolina blue sky have all shown me how much wonder life holds, and to not forget that along the way.

Tonight is my last night here in Chapel Hill, at least for a while......and I just can't deal with that. I refuse to believe it. Not happening. Nope. Nope. Nope. Refuse. I will miss all the pink and green, the pearls, the Vineyard Vines, the Topsiders worn year round (which, come hell or high water, I will continue to do in NYC), and even the game-day traffic that reminds me I am living in a major college town. I will miss the conversations with another person that inevitably lead to finding out we know some of the same people, which often happens, especially if the person has grown up here or lived here for some time. In many ways, Chapel Hill is a small town, especially when the students leave. I will miss running into my professors or doctor at the market, or at movies on the green; I will miss random chance meetings on Franklin St or at the bus stop. If you've never lived here, this may all sound......not real, or the specialness may not really shine through. It's kind of hard to explain, but I'm so glad I've lived here the past 4 years. And hopefully, in 2 years, I'll be back.

Leaving Carolina.

This is it. T-5 days, sort of. I leave Chapel Hill Monday afternoon to go to my dad's, and then leave Carolina early Wednesday morning. I honestly do not know how I'm going to do it. Seriously, I cannot see myself leaving Chapel Hill, knowing I won't be back for a while, much less getting on 95N and driving North. I have a fear that I will turn around in Virginia, and just come back. I've tried to put into words the reasons I love Chapel Hill and North Carolina so much, but words fail me. They're just not adequate. Chapel Hill is one of those towns that, when you try to explain it to someone else, it doesn't sound the way you want it to. Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine, almost exactly 4 years ago, that I would stay here. I definitely wanted to BE here - Chapel Hill was almost mythical to me - but I never thought it would evolve into my home, with people I cared about and places I became part of. I could not have imagined the amount of people that would touch my life, touch my heart, and make me a better person for it. I never expected to learn so much about myself and about life. I think I have grown more here than I have anywhere else, and that is something that will always stay with me.

In some aspects, it really doesn't seem like it's REALLY happening. My head cannot wrap itself around the fact that my time here is seriously limited. My heart hurts even writing this. The tears are inching out the corners of my eyes as I blink them back - it's too soon to cry, I just won't do it. I can't even listen to James Taylor right now because the waterworks start.

So what am I doing? Planning my last dinner out here - I think I'm going for a similar thing as my 30th birthday, a quintessential Chapel Hill theme. Dinner at Top of the Hill, then cupcakes at Sugarland or a walk down Franklin St. See the Old Well one last time for a bit. Breathe in the Carolina night air. Take snapshots of memory up and down Franklin St, at Pepper's, Spanky's, Yogurt Pump, etc. I'm also trying to distract myself with work, and thinking about going running, although the heat is pretty oppressive at this point. I'm also stress eating my way through a bag of Doritos. Good times indeed.

I (heart) North Carolina.

When I first applied to UNC for my MPH, I honestly never thought I would get in. I was working full-time as a medical assistant in an ob/gyn office that I'd worked at off and on during grad school since 2001, and was debating doing a post-bac pre-med program, or an MPH. I applied to a variety of places for public health, mostly up North, with the exceptions of USF, Emory and UNC. Once I found out that UNC was ranked #2 for public health, I actually ripped up all the information and threw it out, because I didn't think I'd have a shot. When I came to Chapel Hill to interview, I flew down and back in one day, but I knew that I loved it here. The street signs on campus were Carolina blue, it was a beautiful spring day......in short, the day I interviewed here was a perfect Southern day. I ended up getting into GW and was waitlisted here, and DREADED going to DC. I could not see myself living in DC, and just wanted to be in Chapel Hill so badly. And the day after my nephew was born, I got the call that I was in, if I was still interested. I'm pretty sure I told Yvette, the Student Services person, that I loved her, when she called with the news. I was so excited. I could not believe I was going to be a Tar Heel. Looking back, I don't remember being nervous. You'd think I would be nervous, moving down South, away from everyone I knew.....I had moved to FL before, but at least I knew people then. But I don't remember being nervous. Instead, I remember being very excited, like I knew this was going to be the right thing.

I remember moving here, and though I was homesick a little, I loved it. True, the slowness of it got to me at first, but as the months went by, I really started to feel at home. And slowly, it began to feel like this was the place for me. Did I miss NY? Of course. And when I interned in the city, I loved it - but I also missed Carolina.

I have less than 2 months here, and I miss it more every day, even though I haven't even left yet. New Jersey, where I grew up, does not feel like home as often as it used to. There are very few places in the world that feel like home to me, and they include Israel, NY, and NC. I have built a life here. I have built connections and forged bonds and become part of the community. Right now, my goal is to come back here in 2 years, when I am done at Columbia.

Some of my favorite memories are here, studying at Weaver Street in Carrboro, or eating homemade ice cream in rocking chairs under the stars at Maple View Ice Cream, or the Belted cows at Fearrington, or music on the green on Sunday nights at Southern Village.......and so many more. Late night shakes at CookOut. Walks on Franklin Street. Wandering around A Southern Season. Getting my nose pierced at Blue Flame, in Raleigh. Brunch at Crook's Corner. Birthday dinner at Penang. Watching the final March Madness game on the deck at the bar. Walking Izzi on the paths through the park in Southern Village. Sugarland cupcakes. Running the trails in the Estes Community Park. I love how I can see people around town that I know, or that so many people know each other. I've grown to love hush puppies, although they irritate my stomach. And ironically, though I've held out for 4 years, all of a sudden I find myself saying "y'all" and sometimes drawing some vowels out with a Southern-like lilt.

I never got the "big school" experience - I went to a small, private, liberal-arts college that barely anyone has heard of, unless they're pre-med, theater or dance. We were Division III. Being at UNC has given me that big school feel in a way, and living in a college town that everyone in the country has heard of has been quite the experience.

When I moved down here, I was subscribing to the New Yorker, New York magazine and Time Out New York. I was stubbornly holding onto my Yankee-ness. And when I move back up North? I'll probably start subscribing to Our State magazine and Chapel Hill magazine.

I moved down here a cynical, jaded, hard Northerner. And I'm now....well, still cynical, still jaded, but somewhat softer. I'll always be a Northerner, but I love Carolina and am proud to call it home.

the right kinds of regrets.

I still haven't made an official decision on school yet. Which is kinda dumb, considering I really only HAVE one acceptance yet. I'm still waiting on UNC, and to be honest, if I am accepted there, the choice may be really hard to make. And I'm scared that I may make the choice based on the wrong reasons.

Everyone on Facebook in the MFA group says not to go into debt. But from my standpoint, every graduate degree comes with some sort of debt. It's not an entitlement. I also am not getting this degree simply "for the craft." I see it as a means to an end, to be a teacher, and to be a professional, in addition to being a writer. I see it as learning the tools of the trade, of language and words, of English and composition. When I graduate, I don't have a problem with working full-time, whereas many of these people want to concentrate on their writing, or their books. Maybe that's the difference between where we're coming from.

But I worry that if I got into UNC, I would make the choice based solely on having less debt when I graduate, along with being able to stay in my life here, in a place where I am comfortable and safe and that I love. Less change and risk. In short, I may make my decision based on fear, rather than hope. I may sabotage my dream. I am fully aware of this.

I've mentioned before my "dirty thirty" post when I turned 30. I am trying to consciously avoid acting from a place of "no" and act from a place of "yes", but it's hard. There's a song I fell in love with back in December, and it's beginning to take off now - Tamar Kaprelian's "New Day." The chorus exemplified how I felt when I turned 30, and it's still true today.

Say goodbye, say goodbye

To the way I was before

Say hello, say hello to a new way

I was lost but I found

What I was looking for

Waking up, waking up to a new day

Am I ready to take the next step? Am I ready and willing to believe wholeheartedly in myself and my abilities? How much am I willing to invest in my dream? I don't want to have regrets - at least, if I do have regrets, I want them to be the right ones, as K said to me today. I chose PCOM over UMiami and regret it to this day. I don't want to do that again. I don't want to live with the "what ifs" and the "I wish I should haves." And I'm afraid that if I don't go to Columbia, I will have to live with that for the rest of my life. I feel, already, at the age of 30, that I have too many regrets already. When do I draw the line? Is regretting not going to Columbia a worse regret than pinching pennies for the rest of my life to pay student loans? What about the off chance that I wind up with an agent and book deal? I'll never know unless I take that risk.

New York state of mind.

Me and my favorite little guy

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Sitting on the steps of Low Library at Columbia

So. I went into the city while I'm up North visiting, and it was the first time I'd been in the city since March 2009. To be honest, though I've really missed Manhattan, I haven't realistically thought about moving back. I love my life in Chapel Hill. I live in a wonderful New Urbanist neighborhood; the town feels like a small town, where the baristas and workers at the co-op know me and the employees at B&N and Dick's Sporting Goods know me as well....I've built a life there in the almost 4 years I've lived there. A large chunk of my wardrobe is Carolina blue, I live for March Madness and the hatred for Duke runs through my veins as though it's always been there. In short, I have become a Tar Heel. Anyway....as I got into Penn Station and bought the MetroCards for my mother and I, that familiar thrill started trickling into my blood - the electric undercurrent of the crowded station, the constant humming of the city and overstimulation wherever you turn. Riding the 1 train up to Columbia, I passed the old familiar stops that I used to frequent so much - 59th St/Columbus Circle, where my favorite Whole Foods is, as well as the Borders and J.Crew I would shop at; 66th St/Lincoln Center, where the B&N was that had the amazing 4th floor cafe where I would stare down at the city while drinking my coffee and doing homework; 72nd St with the Urban Outfitters, the station where I saw the man get hit by the subway train; and 110th St, the stop that would signal it was time for me to get off and walk the two blocks to my apartment on 112th, between Broadway and Amsterdam. Finally, we got to 116th and walked up the subway steps, and as we stepped into the sunlight and turned to the left, there I saw it: Miller Theater, Columbia University School of the Arts.

We stepped through the open gates of the University, and though I hadn't been on campus since 2004, I fell in love with it all over again, like I'd never been gone. The campus will do that to you. It is an oasis of beauty and green in the concrete jungle of the city. Personally, I've always been reminded of the movie "Dead Poets Society." Especially in Butler Library, where it is hard not to be blown away by the marble and chrome. My mom and I walked up the steps to the School of the Arts, and I kid you not, as crazy as this sounds, I was honestly excited and thrilled that I was actually here, that I was actually doing this, that it might become a reality. I met with some of the admissions people, the financial aid rep (who assured me that I would not have to sell any non-essential organs to afford the 50k-per-year tuition), and went up to the 4th floor, where the Writing department is. the students were on spring break, but I was able to see the classrooms, the student lounge and was given the student handbook, a course listing packet, a thesis anthology from last year's students and a copy of the literary journal "Columbia." Looking at the rooms where workshop and lecture would be, I couldn't help but think of the writers that have sat in those rooms before - Jonathan Ames, Tama Janowitz, Meghan Daum, Heidi Julavits, Susan Minot, Rick Moody, Vendela Vida, and of course, the infamous James Franco. I know college is a business, but it felt like they genuinely wanted me to go there.

I left there wishing that I didn't love it so much, that I wish I had found more - something, anything - wrong with the program, other than the tuition. In their defense, there are actually more financial aid opportunities than you might be led to believe otherwise....many of which start the second year, unfortunately.

Anyway. After we left campus, we had delicious falafel at Amir's, went to see my old apartment building, and stopped at Book Culture across the street, which used to be Labyrinth Books when I lived there. Then we went to Pinkberry (a great addition to the 'hood), and hopped a cab to the East Side, where we went to Dylan's Candy Bar (because I love it) and Bloomingdales, where we had coffee at David Burke (he of David Burke and Donatella fame) and did some shopping. It was an exhausting day, but very fun and very tiring.

So, other than that, I still don't know what I will be doing come fall. The New School has not found it in their hearts to even show me the courtesy to let me know their decision, even when I explained I was only visiting the city for a day; and UNC informed me they are STIIIILLLL making their PhD decisions. So. If college is a business, guess who's probably getting my money?

oh, Manhattan...here we are again.

I was looking through some old writing of mine, and found an entry from October 2007, right after I found out I would be interning at MSKCC that coming summer. It took my breath away, because reading it, I could feel how excited I was to return to Manhattan. And if I really thought about it and admitted it, as much as I love Chapel Hill, I do miss Manhattan. If I were offered the right job, I would move back. Here's what I wrote:

....I just got an internship in nyc for the summer, which I am SO psyched about, but now I am wondering where I will live...maybe I just need to chill about that for now, and simply enjoy the fact that I got my dream internship at my dream job place, and I will be in the city I love for 8 weeks, doing what I love. I can go to Crumbs and Magnolia and Bloomingdales and Scoop and Searle, and Barnes & Noble in Lincoln Center and walk down Central Park West and people-watch at Columbus Circle and walk around the village and eat falafel and subway hop and go to Dylan's Candy Bar and The Ginger Man. I can complain about how crowded the 6 is and how sweaty NY summers are. I can walk around Soho on a Sunday and play in the Apple store and try perfumes at Sephora and browse for things for my nephew at the Scholastic store. I can peruse the magazines at the awesome newsstand near my old place in Morningside Heights and go to Duane Reade at 2am if I want to. I can order groceries from Fresh Direct and get bubble tea on the Upper West Side. I can walk around amongst the noises of the city and traffic and people and life and feel like I am in the heart of the world, the blood flowing through my veins so loud I can hear it, like there's no other place that matters. I can't wait.

Reading that, can't you just feel how much I love that city? How much that place also feels like home? I never had to "get used" to New York. When I first moved there to go to Columbia, it felt like home. I was never nervous about wandering the city or subways, and it felt filled with endless possibilities. I still feel that way about it. I thrive on the anonymity there. Funny, because here in Chapel Hill, especially in my neighborhood, it's impossible to be anonymous. I guess there are some places that will always feel like home to us. For me, it's Manhattan, Chapel Hill and Israel. When I left Israel, I was - and still am - homesick, on a visceral and spiritual level.

Anyway. I guess what also triggered this was I found some old papers from Teachers College (Columbia) about Nursing Education/Exercise Physiology/Health Education programs there. I don't know why I kept them....but I did. hmmm.....

keep swimming....

This is the Ironman Triathlon symbol, the "M-dot". One day, I hope to do a half-Ironman, or even a full Ironman.

I got the pin out of my foot yesterday, and have to wear the air cast for another 4 weeks. So today I went swimming at the UNC Wellness Center, where my grandparents have very nicely paid for a month membership, since they have a pool and awesome, state-of-the art equipment. It really is an AMAZING facility, and I'd really like to write a lot so that I can maintain a membership there for a few months, especially leading up to the triathlon (it's somewhat pricey). But I swam in the pool there today, and it kicked my butt. I didn't realize how weakened I'd become since surgery, but I guess after almost 8 weeks of not exercising and not even walking nearly as much as I had been, I definitely lost a lot of strength. It was humbling, and upsetting, and frustrating. I don't like struggling as an athlete, but today I was struggling. It makes me nervous about the triathlon, even though I have 5 months to go. I thought the swim leg would be the one part of the tri that I wouldn't have to worry about, but now I'm wondering. Of course, I can't run until July, according to the orthopedic surgeon, so I'm thinking the run leg might be my most challenging. I am hoping that I have given myself enough time to train.

At any rate, it was really great to be exercising again. It felt natural to use my muscles, and feel the strain in my arms. The water has always been familiar to me; I had a pool nearly my entire life growing up, and I would spend hours swimming laps, diving off the diving board, and playing games with my brother and friends. Being back in the pool today felt nice, although I struggled.

As Dory from "Finding Nemo" said, "Just keep swimming...."

just call me Coach.

Girls on the Run!

Despite the fact that I am still wearing an air cast (surgeon said I should be able to run by July), I just signed up to be a volunteer coach in the fall for an organization called Girls on the Run. It was founded by a woman named Molly Barker (a UNC alum, clinical social worker, 4 time Hawaii Ironman triathlete and recovering alcoholic), and is quite possibly the neatest organization I have ever had the opportunity to work with. The program is a 12 week program for girls ages 8-12, and we will meet twice a week for an hour at a time, doing lessons on self-esteem, body image, healthy choices, and other positive, empowering themes for young girls. At each session, we do some running, and at the end of the 12 weeks, we enter a 5k (3.1 miles) race. Girls this age are on the cusp, they are looking into the "Girl Box", as Molly writes. But think back to when you were 8, 9, 10...before you were worried about not being "pretty enough", or "thin enough", or "smart enough", or "popular enough"....because you knew you WERE enough. Unfortunately, somewhere along the way, many of us fall into media traps of what is deemed "acceptable" for young women today. We get trapped in the "Girl Box", with its strict rules as to what is expected and what is accepted. We learn to be seen and not heard, to speak a little softer. We learn that the media slams women who dare to be a healthy size, rather than diet themselves into nothingness. Sports can change all that. I am so excited to be a role model and help empower these girls to love themselves, and make healthy choices for themselves. Athletics has always been part of my life - gymnastics, tennis, rugby, and now triathlon - and to share that with others is a gift.

I went into psychology because of Mary Pipher's book Reviving Ophelia. Though my life has detoured into pediatric oncology, I still have a strong interest in psychology (as I should, since I have a Master's in counseling), and I think this experience will teach me a lot. I'm sure that these girls will be teaching me, as much - if not more - than I teach them. I'm reading Molly Barker's book "Girls on Track", which gives some background on her own life and the development of the program, and it's pretty amazing.

remembering.

I was walking to my car after meeting with my Microbiology professor about a test that I bombed, and I saw a bumper sticker that said Remember who you wanted to be. That struck me, because my teacher and I were just talking about the difficulties I was having taking tests, which she feels stems from my lack of confidence in my abilities regarding the material. And she's right -- I have been so intimidated by these classes. I'm in a new environment, the hard sciences, as opposed to the behavioral sciences, and it scared me. She said I need to believe in my abilities and believe I can do it, that I can be a "gunner" like the others. She's right, I know she is. My family has said this to me many times. I think the issue of self-confidence has been a nagging one especially since last spring, when I did not get into the UNC Health Behavior/Health Education PhD. I mean, that devastated me and totally pulled the rug out from under me. I think it was then that I really began to start to doubt my intelligence, my abilities, and my success. Seeing this bumper sticker made me think, who did I want to be? Not someone who doubts herself, I can tell you that. I have not earned 2 graduate degrees with self-doubt.

This also tied into something that's been nagging me, and I know I've blogged about this before. I love oncology. But geez, could I have picked a more emotionally challenging field? Sometimes it is hard, because cancer is everywhere in my life, personally and professionally. I have a friend whose metastatic rhabdomyosarcoma has not slowed down despite amputations, chemo and radiation; he's going to try a new chemo regimen, but the doctors have had "the talk" with him and his wife. He is 32. I have another friend who has leukemia; he just had another recurrence, despite chemo and a bone marrow transplant. His boyfriend is battling Hodgkin's disease. He was supposed to start a PhD at Stanford in the fall; now he is making videos and writing letters for his younger brother to remember him by. He's 25. I have a family member with end-stage cancer. But then I remember all of my friends who have overcome their cancers, and who are living and thriving.....but it's hard. In some ways, I wish I could be less emotional about it -- but at the same time, I think it's my emotion that illustrates just how passionate I am about the field, and patients can sense that. Patients can sense when a provider is "just doing a job", as opposed to loving what they do. I want to love what I do. I want them to feel my passion for making a difference.

I worked in an ob/gyn office for 6 years and loved it. Sometimes, when oncology gets to be too hard, I wonder if I'd be better suited to being a nurse midwife. Delivering babies. Pink and blue and happiness. Or a women's health NP. But then I remember my reasons for going into oncology, and go back again.

When I remember who I wanted to be, I remember I wanted to be a passionate, determined, never-give-up health educator and oncology person. I wanted to forge connections with patients and make a difference. I wanted to be optimistic and believe in the best outcomes, and believe in miracles. And this is all still possible. I just have to remind myself of that. I just have to believe.

almost 2 years later.

Friday will mark 2 years since Eve was murdered. Those who know me know that I have been fascinated by this case since the beginning. Like I've said before, I think it's because as a young woman, I identify strongly with Eve, and I love and feel safe in Chapel Hill. The brutality of this crime is sharply juxtaposed with the place I have made my home, which makes it even more jarring. The random senselessness, the stark contrast between her vibrant life and lonely death, and the brutality shown in her killing have all made it a huge thing to process, and I think UNC is still processing, in its own way.

The day they announced that the Jane Doe was actually Eve was an unseasonably warm clear day, with a Carolina blue sky. The days that followed, right before spring break, were filled with darkness and torrential rains, like the sadness and grief were everywere. This Thursday (tomorrow), the Eve Carson Memorial Garden here at UNC will be dedicated, and the weather tomorrow, after days of gray dreariness and rain....is supposed to be sunny with a sky of beautiful Carolina blue. The name "Eve" means life. The Hebrew derivative is Chaya, which means "to live"; or Chavah, which means "breathe". I think a garden is a perfect memorial, because the beauty and life of the flowers will continue to grow and bring comfort and peace to others.

For those of you who don't know, her killers - sorry, her "alleged" killers who are on tape using her ATM card and in her SUV - were supposed to be in jail. They slipped through cracks in the probation system. One of them also murdered a Duke graduate student earlier that year - he was shot in the head in his own apartment. One of them is up for the death penalty, and the other is not, because he was only 17 at the time. I'm sorry, but if you're old enough to callously kill someone and have no remorse, you're old enough to get the death penalty. And though all murders are violent, this one - 5 shots, the last one in the temple with a shotgun, where she held her hand up to shield her face - is especially so. I'm not writing this to "sensationalize" it. I'm writing it because it shouldn't have happened. I'm writing it because it was markedly brutal, and yet because the boy was 17, that is enough to shield him from the maximum sentence? There are people doing the right thing and living their lives in a good way who don't have food or shelter, and I'm supposed to pay for these criminals to get 3 squares and a bed? What's not right with this? You mean to tell me they'll ever be "rehabilitated"? I know this sentiment isn't popular, and that's fine. It's just my opinon. But Eve's parents and brother don't get to talk to her on the phone. Her brother's future kids will never know their Auntie Eve. They walk by her empty bedroom. Their years are full of milestones - birthdays, holidays, celebrations - that she's absent from. They are adjusting to a whole new way of life. They will never be the same. They live with wondering what she was thinking, what she was feeling those last hours. Her killers may have done the crime, but it's her family who has the life sentence. How is that fair?

"Think about this moment. This day and this moment, this is the best day of our lives right now." - Eve Marie Carson

strong in the broken places.

Things have been busy. I got the part-time job I interviewed for at the UNC School of Nursing; I start next Tuesday. It's a research job working on a study of survivors of acute childhood leukemia. I think it's a great opportunity and I'm really looking forward to starting it. I need something I'm passionate about right now.

I started 2 classes - I'm not in an academic program, but I am a part-time student taking prereq's that an accelerated BSN would need. Right now, I'm not even sure my brain works this way. It's just that all the health educator jobs I saw, wanted a NURSE health educator. Didn't matter that I had my MPH; they wanted a clinical degree. I was pretty discouraged. I still look at PhD programs in health psych and public health, but not sure what path will get me to what I want to do. Which is work in oncology, doing patient advocacy and education, and psychosocial oncology research. There are just hurdles, like to do original research, in most institutions, you need a doctorate. Even lots of research jobs I saw at UNC needed a PhD. Frustrating. I think more experience working on research will help me, and these classes will let me know if my brain works in a scientific way. The PhD program at UNC that I had applied to last year seemed to incorporate it all; we all know how THAT turned out. And I didn't have the heart to apply again this year, because I hadn't done any research since then to boost my application, so I didn't think it would make a difference. If I continue to do research throughout this year, I might apply in December...but that's a long way away. Lots can change before then. I think my goal this year is to get research work experience, mainly. I guess I will reevaluate in July/August about reapplying.

The 2 classes I am taking are Anatomy & Physiology, and Medical Microbiology. They are kicking my butt. My brain is on overload. I like the material, but I've never struggled in school like this before. I never studied much before, ever. Now I'm studying for hours each day. Science requires a whole new way of thinking; the homework isn't analytical or asking how I *feel* about anything -- it's very black and white, definite right and wrong answers, and enormous amounts of information. It's like trying to take a sip of water from a firehose. I've been studying every spare minute of the day, but not sure if I'm retaining anything. We'll see, either way, I guess. I've just never felt so inept at school in my life. For someone whose identity is wrapped largely in her academic ability and achievements, this is a bitter pill to swallow.

So, we'll see. I'm just looking forward to my job, which will place me in an area I am comfortable with and knowledgeable about - pediatric cancer. It is familiar, and a passion of mine, so I think I will be okay with that.

"The world breaks everyone, and afterwards, many are strong in the broken places." - Ernest Hemingway

there's no place like home....

The Old Well at UNC

Much of the time, I find myself missing New York. More specifically, Manhattan. I lived there twice; once on the Upper West Side when I went to Columbia for a year, and once on the Upper East Side, when I interned at MSKCC. I consider New York to be one of my homes...it is one of the few places where it immediately, instinctually felt like home the minute I arrived. Whenever the "homesickness" gets to be too much, I find myself reading the NY travel guides I have. Despite having lived in North Carolina for over 2 years, I still subscribe to New York magazine and regularly buy Time Out New York, when I can find it. No cupcakes here will ever live up to Buttercup Bake Shop or Crumbs, no bagel here will be half as good as H&H, and don't even think about giving me a black and white that isn't from the city.

Though not a native New Yorker, I am definitely a Northerner, born and bred. I walk fast, talk fast, can be an aggressive driver, and often find myself (unfortunately) short on patience. So how on earth did I find myself making Chapel Hill my home? When I applied to grad schools, I mostly applied to Northern schools, with GW and UNC being the exceptions. Oh yeah, and Emory. I was headed to GW when I got the acceptance to UNC, and found myself south-bound, not quite sure what to expect. The friendliness was disarming at first, and the unspoken social rules hard to decipher. The fact that many people don't lock their house doors until they go to bed at night blew my mind. I'd never been to a school the size of UNC before, and never lived in a college town like Chapel Hill. When I first got here, I liked it, but was pretty sure I would move back North when I graduated.

Long story short, over the 2 years of my MPH program, I found myself liking the slower pace here, liking the friendliness, LOVING the affordability, and feeling...well....feeling like I could adopt this town as a home. Graduation came, and I knew I would stay in the South, unless a dream job in NY opened up - and even then, it would have been a tough decision.

Chapel Hill is often called "the Southern part of Heaven", and I can see why. I love my neighborhood, which is a New Urbanist neighborhood (although some people think it's too Stepford-esque), I feel safe here, and there's a quaintness to the town that I can't fully place. When I first got a Chapel Hill address, I loved the fact that I could write "Chapel Hill" - it had been a place I'd heard of over and over, with Tar Heel sports, but actually living there was something different. Although I read NY Magazine, I also find myself regularly reading Chapel Hill Magazine. Over the past 2 and a half years, I have made this town my home. I have found favorite restaurants, cupcake haunts, and people who remember me at coffee shops. Though I miss my family often, I know they are a short plane ride away. Last summer I had the opportunity to show both my mom and my grandparents, and my dad, around Chapel Hill and where I have lived, and yet nothing I showed them could adequately portray why I like it here so much. I can never fully explain to people up North the intensity of the UNC-Duke rivalry. Or why, when basketball season rolls around, I suddenly turn into a sports fan. (although the fact that my other fave team, UMiami, is also in the ACC, sometimes poses a problem).

My driver's license, registration, voting record, and in-state tuition status all point to the fact that I am a bona-fide North Carolinian. Am I a Tar Heel born and bred? No, not exactly. But right now, I am a Tar Heel, and that's good enough for me. In fact, I just found this article written by - of all things - a native New Yorker who goes to UNC. She describes many of the same sentiments.

Maybe my sweet nephew will become a Tar Heel - he already loves Ramses the ram!

waiting rooms

Sometimes it's easy to forget about "civilians" who don't work in oncology, and what the cancer experience is like for them. This hit me today when I went to the new UNC Cancer Center to give a mentor of mine a recommendation letter form. She's a pediatric oncologist, and I went to the pediatric heme/onc clinic, and sat in the waiting room while she finished up with her patient. I saw parents and grandparents, both alone and with their children, and I realized, once again, that people who don't work in the field can experience this in a much different way. It's too easy for me to forget that, and I need to work on that. I saw the look of badly-disguised fear in one mother's eyes, and the half-hearted attempts at distracting themselves by family members. I forget that people are terrified of cancer, and not everyone turns toward learning information - many people turn away from learning about cancer, because they don't understand it, or it's just too frightening. For me, the more scared I am, the more I read about it, because learning and knowledge helps me to reign in my fear. But that's not for everyone. I choose to surround myself with information about cancer; most people do not, they are thrust into the world of lumbar punctures and chemotherapy and radiation and blood counts and talk of stages and remission and metastases unwillingly. And when I think about that, that must be terrifying. And I cannot allow myself to forget that. Not at all. Whether I eventually become a pediatric oncology nurse practitioner or a health psychologist, I cannot forget the human side of cancer, as Jimmie Holland (my own personal favorite oncology rock star) said. I can't forget the fear or the desperation or the raw hope that many people need just to face the day or another doctor's appointment.

I have chosen to immerse myself in a subject that most people try to avoid with every fiber in their body. I thought about this as I sat in the waiting room. And for a split second, I did think, Jaime, what on earth are you thinking? Look at these children, look at their parents. This field is full of sadness and tears and pain. But then in the next second, I knew that I wouldn't want to do anything else. I don't turn away from this. Yes, it scares me when I let it. Yes, it makes me sad when I let it. But I also know that one day, I will be able to make a difference, even if it's for one family a day. For me, that makes it all worth it.

it's not faith if you use your eyes...

This picture captures the essence of how I feel lately, but not necessarily in a bad way. Let me explain. I have always been that intense, neurotic girl who planned her life in detail. No joke, I actually wrote out Jaime's Life Plan when I was in college, right down to where I wanted to do my PsyD internship, when I wanted to get married, etc. Needless to say, there have been quite a few detours. I don't like surprises. I'm not a spontaneous person. I used to be terrified of making "the wrong decision"....but it has taken me over 5 years to realize that there was no wrong decision. Every experience I've had, every place I've lived, every program in which I've studied, have a place and reason in my life. And though I have yet to find my place in this confusing and crazy world, I think I'm getting closer. I hope I am. It feels like I am. I may be in pediatric oncology, just not the way I thought. I may be in medicine, but not as a doctor. I don't want to sound Pollyanna-ish....has this been easy? No way. Do I still question my decisions? Constantly. I still fight feelings of doubt and disappointment, but at the age of 28, maybe I am finally headed on the right path.

Things happen for a reason. Going to UNC for my MPH was a dream come true, and I came out of it a little bruised, but still here. I have found a place I can call home, and really, truly love where I live. Dare I say - I'm like a real adult. There have been so many unexplainable and unjustifiable (in my opinon) things that have happened in my life, and I have just come to have blind faith that it will all come together in the end.

I've never been like this before. I've never NOT had a plan. I've never NOT had a clear, laid-out trajectory. I've never doubted myself so strongly in my entire life. The whole PhD debacle really shook my confidence, and I need to regain my belief in myself. Maybe this is all part of the growth process we all go through.

Over 10 years ago, a mentor told me about "blind faith". Taking that leap when you have no idea what's on the other side, but having faith that it would work out. It's only now that I can appreciate that concept the way I think she meant it.