that day.

Everyone mentions the weather when they talk about 9/11. Try to find a piece that doesn't mention the Indian Summer September day, or the clear blue skies, or the fact that it was the kind of September day that epitomizes back-to-school and fall. I know I'll write about 9/11 closer to the anniversary day, but living in NY 10 years later is kind of surreal. Magazines, lit mags and newspapers are all talking about the 10 year marker. I lived here on the 2nd anniversary of the attacks, and remember the city stopping and the church bells ringing at the time each plane hit. Now, 8 years later, here I am again.

I went to Ground Zero back in 2003 or 2004 when I lived here, and it was odd. I couldn't get over the fact that I was, essentially, staring at a mass grave. The enormity of it hit me that day, and it was impossible not to cry; it was still so fresh. The "Missing" posters were still up at St.Vincent's. Now, everyone is familiar with the pictures of people jumping from the buildings, the fact that death by jumping was preferable to whatever they were facing in the building, is horrifying. Everyone's seen pictures of the fallen and twisted steel and beams, the rubble and the remains.

I'm not sure what to expect on that day this September. Last year I was doped up on painkillers at a hotel, recovering from foot surgery. I didn't leave the hotel room and was sleeping most of the day, so I don't remember news coverage of it. The effects of that day a decade ago linger for all of us, albeit in different ways.

But in the end, I bet everyone remembers what a gorgeous day it happened to be.

Below is an excerpt from NY magazine. The story is heartbreaking. Beverly Eckert's husband Sean was on the 105th floor, and couldn't get out because the impact was below him. Here's part of the story: "...By now we had stopped talking about escape routes. I wanted to use the precious few minutes we had left just to talk....At one point, when I could tell it was getting harder for him to breathe, I asked if it hurt. He paused for a moment, and then said 'No.' He loved me enough to lie. In the end, as the smoke got thicker, he just kept whispering, 'I love you', over and over. Then I suddenly heard this loud explosion through the phone. It reverberated for several seconds. We held our breath; I knew we both realized what was about to happen. Then I heard a sharp crack, followed by the sound of an avalanche. I heard Sean gasp once as the floor fell out from underneath him. I called his name into the phone over and over. Then I just sat there huddled on the floor holding the phone to my heart." In 2009, Beverly died in a plane crash, when Continental 3407 crashed in Buffalo.

remembering the wonder.

Anyone who knows me knows it's been a struggle, this move back North to NY. To everyone's surprise, including my own, I loved North Carolina. I loved it so much I stayed after grad school, and didn't want to leave. Sometimes it's hard to get perspective on the long haul, when all we see is what is right in front of us.

I was washing my hair tonight when my eye caught sight of my wrist, and it made me think. On the inside of my right wrist is the word "wonder," inked in black script. I got it months ago, because this time last year, when I was making the decision to pursue writing seriously, I kept listening to "bring on the wonder" by Susan Enan. I wanted the whole lyric, "Bring on the wonder" on my forearm, but was told it would be too big, so I opted for that one word. I chose it because the lyrics to the song reminded me that I'd pushed down wonder and joy for so long, and making the choice to be a writer opened up that exuberance once again. It gave me permission to be excited about my life again, to see and feel the possibilities that awaited me. It gave me the chance to dream. When I look at my wrist, it reminds me of those initial days of making the decision, those terrifying yet exhilarating days of thinking, what the fuck did I just do to my life and holy crap, I'm going to be a writer! Those nights where I lay in bed, unable to sleep because I wasn't doing something "practical" and wasn't sure if I'd have enough money to pay my bills. Those days that stretched into weeks of not knowing if I'd get accepted anywhere.

I looked at my wrist, the beautiful script lettering (he truly did an amazing job), and am reminded of why I pursued this. I am reminded of what drove me to tell my family I couldn't do science classes anymore and maybe I would have better luck writing. I remember how I loved writing as a child and teenager, and now I am having this amazing chance to refine my craft and learn from some of the best writers around. I am reminded to remember the wonder of last summer, of how I started seeing butterflies and dragonflies everywhere - symbols of transformation - after making my decision. Looking at my tattoo, it gives me hope. Hope that although things may seem dark now, the morning always comes. My next trip to Chapel Hill will come up sooner than I can imagine, and it will always be somewhere to which I can return. It gives me hope that I will love my classes, because I will be around authors whom I've only previously read about. Sort of like when I interned at Sloan-Kettering....everyday my mind would be blown by my coworkers whose research I'd studied for years....the fact that these people actually EXISTED and that I was TALKING with them stunned me daily.

So long story short, tonight I was reminded of why I am here in NY in the first place, and what my goal is. I worked my whole life - whether I knew it or not - to get to this point. I finally took that leap of faith and decided to take myself seriously as a writer and decided I was worth it to invest time and lots of money into this path. I cracked open and let in the wonder.

the move to NY.

Well. I am in NY, awaiting the arrival of Hurricane Irene. What a metaphor for my life lately and my journey to get here, huh? Up until the night before I came here, I honestly wasn't sure I'd come. The sheer cost started to seem wasteful, even though I have a sizeable fellowship, for which I am very thankful. And, I guess I am more of a Southerner than I thought - every fiber of my body resisted coming here. I'm still not loving the city. Not at all. The noise, the crowds, the attitude - nothankyou. Oh, and did I mention that 2 small bags of groceries - cereal, bread, peanut butter, soda, granola bars, pasta, sauce, etc, cost 64 dollars? What. the. hell. At any rate, I'm here for the forseable time being. Orientation is next week, and classes start the 6th. I didn't get the workshop I wanted, nor did I get the one class I really, really wanted.....but the classes and workshop I did get are fine. My apartment....it's school-owned, so it's bigger than anything I could have gotten for the same amount of money. It's a 4 bedroom apt for two of us; one of the bedrooms is a study room. We also have a living space and a decent sized kitchen. Hardwood floors, pre-war building. My room is tiny. Very tiny. And we have no air conditioning, so I am DYING. It's okay overall. It's a block over from where I used to live here, and the next block over has a very cool indie bookstore called BookCulture, which was Labyrinth Books when I lived here last.

Honestly, I am missing Carolina so much it hurts. Physically hurts - every time I let myself think about it and *feel* about it, it feels like my chest is caving in on itself and the tears come, hot and fast. I miss my coworkers, I miss my friends who are still there, I miss work, I miss Chapel Hill and Franklin St, I miss Southern Village, I miss my running buddies....I built a life there, I became attached to a place and put down roots. I'm seeing this as very temporary, my stay in NY. It is 2 years of my life. And then I can go back.

umm....

So much has happened this week....the day after I last posted, I got a phone call with some financial aid news that stunned me, and not in a good way. For most people, I think it would be a game-changer. I can't even. My brain is still processing and analyzing to see if this is doable, worth it....I just don't know. I was completely unprepared for that.

Part of me thinks, um, HELLO, if this isn't a sign to go back to NC, what is?; another part of me thinks it's okay, this will still work out and be great and you will love it. This is just a minor snag. I'm completely wiped out by the last 48 hours.

I heard this song today and have been obsessed with it:

short. maybe not so sweet.

I drove up to NJ. I move to NY next week. I miss North Carolina and have been looking excessively at UNCW's webpage. That is all.

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.

I'm gonna live forever.

Sometimes, when I realize I'm going to the School of the Arts, I like to imagine it'll be a little bit like the 80's tv show/movie "Fame." I'm not sure whether I should be horrified or excited about that.

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.

Chapel Hill, I love you.

I have a little more than a week left here. Holy fucking shit. Writing it made it real. And I don't want it to be. I was talking to an author today at the store who teaches in the UNCW MFA program, and yet again, thought to myself, why did I not apply there? They have the #2 program in creative nonfiction. To the best of my recollection, it was because I was already spending so much on application fees, GRE fees, trancript and score fees. And I thought I'd surely get into UNC-CH. Well. Weren't we all in for a surprise. sigh. But what's done is done.

The past 4 years.....have been wonderful. A friend from the MPH program and I went to dinner on Franklin St the other night, and it was great. Afterward, we walked around, went to Yogurt Pump and then walked around UNC's campus, and I took a picture of the Old Well. I remember the day I moved to NC, and I drove down Franklin St. I'd never really been on a college campus with such a picturesque "main street." Shops advertising Carolina blue apparel, Tar Heels everywhere, little restaurants and the ubiquitous Starbucks. This is the street of the huge annual Halloween party, and the place where students went after winning NCAA basketball championships. It is the stuff that movies are made of, really. I've studied with friends at Starbucks, celebrated my 30th birthday at Sugarland and Top of the Hill, had drinks at Spanky's, celebrated my 27th birthday at Tallulah's and eaten huge plates of hush puppies at Carolina Brewery. It is where I had my graduation dinner at 411 West, eaten bowls of Cold Stone Creamery while walking down the street, and just off Franklin St, gone to Fridays on the Front Porch with my old roommate.

I remember wanting to be a Tar Heel in high school, but in an abstract way. All sports kids liked Carolina, the powerhouse of athletics. When I finally got in, I was ecstatic. I couldn't wait to live in Chapel Hill. Where even the fire trucks are Carolina blue. I cannot describe the small-town feel of it, especially after the students leave. I have never lived in a place like this before, and I really dread leaving.

But it is the people I will miss most. Many of my friends have already left, but I have friends still here that are amazing. I have made wonderful friends at work, and when my boss asked me how excited I was to be moving, I started tearing up and couldn't talk about it. When my coworkers tell me they are simply refusing to believe I am moving, it makes me sad. When my running group talks about running races in the fall, or being in denial that I'm going, it tears at me. Thinking about not seeing all these familiar places - Southpoint, Estes Community Park, the Chapel Hill library, Caribou.....makes me sad.

I know I need to go to NY, because this is where I need to go to get where I want to be. I just wish I could have done it in NC.

On a brighter note, I've received some swag from Kiel James Patrick and will be giving it away soon to a blog reader. :) Stay tuned.

you can't curl up with a Kindle.

Before deciding to apply to MFA programs and doing all my research, despite all of my reading and English/lit classes, I hadn't heard of many great writers, both past and present. Sure, I read some of the classics, and of course Joan Didion, but I'd never heard of Wallace Stegner. Or Dan Chaon. Or Aimee Bender. Of course I knew about the Iowa Writers' Workshop, but the Stegner Fellowship? Nope. Never heard of the Pushcart Prize or the literary magazines Tin House or Ploughshares. I vaguely knew of Glimmer Train, but had never really picked it up. Did I really know how cutthroat MFA admissions were? Not a clue. If I'd known, I would have probably been a lot more nervous than I was. And I was pretty damn nervous.

So, now, as I prepare for my new program, I've read Aimee Bender, Wells Tower (Columbia alum), Alice Munro, will be reading Dan Chaon soon, and this summer, I discovered the amazing writer that is Wallace Stegner. I read his book "Crossing to Safety," and loved it. I wanted to savor it, so I read it in small pieces. I can't explain how crisp and cool his writing is, almost like you're running through a waterfall. That sounds ridiculous, but that's how reading "Crossing to Safety" felt like for me. I just got his Pulitzer Prize-winning book "Angle of Repose." Several regular customers have recommended it to me, and while it's not typically the kind of story I go for, I'm excited to start it. I will never get a Kindle or NOOK for this reason: the tactile experience of reading. I've picked up the book multiple times, felt its weight in my hands, sturdy, reassuring, and stable. Gazed at the beautiful cover and read the back several times over. Looked at the spine, at the name "Wallace Stegner" and thought about the man who wrote these important pieces of literature. Flipped through the pages and inhaled the smell of freshly printed pages. You book lovers know what I'm talking about. There is just something about a book......writers don't dream about the day they can download their books; we dream of holding our book in our hands, knowing how much labor and love has gone into several hundred pages. A book is tangible proof of hard work and effort.

I'm not really sure what the point of this is; I just had to write about this. Maybe it's working at an indie bookstore, maybe it's because of the internet MFA groups I've joined - I've become a bit of a booksnob, almost. :) There's just so much great writing out there that isn't commercially popular - because that's not the point. But I'd bet there's a lot more people who've read Dan Brown and consider him a great writer, than there are who've read Dostoyevsky or Nabokov or Michael Chabon. I have so much to learn about writing and literature and this world, that I really think this program will be wonderful. I can't wait.