stranger in a strange land.

I started my classes this week, and I love them. Love, love, love. Columbia's program is different than most MFAs, because it requires you to complete 60 credits, whereas many other programs have as little as 36 or so. The program is known for being academically rigorous, and it hasn't disappointed. I am taking one workshop, 2 seminars and 1 lecture, with a book to read each week for the seminars and lecture. So basically, 3 books a week, plus workshopping, plus any writing assignments. Kind of overwhelming, but I like an academic challenge. My cohort is really great, and I think it's going to be an interesting semester and I will learn a lot.

That being said, still not loving NY. I was lying awake in my bed last night up until 3 am - and around 2 am there was a lovely car alarm that went off for a good 8-10 minutes. Which is a really long time, actually. I just.....can't get used to living like this. I'm constantly hyped up, because everyone moves fast. If I have one more rude cashier that ignores my hello, I think I'm going to snap. If I were having a bad day in Carolina and went out for the day, it would be impossible not to take note of some kindness from the general community. Having a bad day here? It likely gets worse when I leave the apt. Down South, if you were waiting for your Starbucks drink, or in an elevator, conversations would be started, and usually you'd end up laughing and wishing the person a good day. My first day of classes, I was in the elevator with 2 people (not Writing people) and I joked about the torrential rains and being soaking wet as a first impression. Nothing. I wished both of them a good day as I left the elevator, nothing. I never, ever expected this. I used to love NY. I knew it would be a change, but I never expected to feel like I don't belong in this city. But that's how I feel. I feel like I belong in the program, but not in the city. And that's really hard every day.

Joan Didion and NY

I've always loved Joan Didion's writing. It started when I got her book The Year of Magical Thinking, years ago. I loved her style of writing - crisp, honest, sarcastic at times - so much that I sought out her other books, and eventually got her book of collected nonfiction, We Tell Ourselves Stories in Order to Live. I was pretty happy to see this book on one of my class reading lists this semester. Didion has written lines like, "...All I knew then was what I couldn't do. All I knew then was what I wasn't, and it took me some years to discover what I was. Which was a writer. By which I mean not a 'good' writer or 'bad' writer, but simply a writer, a person whose most absorbed and passionate hours are spent arranging words on a piece of paper...." One of her more well-known essays is one called "Goodbye to All That." It is an essay about falling in and then out of love with New York. Although she must have fallen back in love with it at some point, because she lives here now. I wish I could reprint the whole thing for you. I have been reading and rereading it. This adjustment period to NY is hard. It is hard to love a place that seems very desperate, very lonely. Human connection is not so readily available on the streets here as it is in other places. When I was coming back from the store, a woman was walking her dog. I looked up at her and smiled, because that's what you did in NC, waiting for her to say hi, and it turned out she wasn't even looking at me, she was staring at the concrete. At the store, the cashiers can't get you out fast enough. Not a response to my "Hello," not a smile as you leave, nothing. How did this happen to us? When did this become the norm here?

Here is some of Didion's essay:

"It is easy to see the beginning of things, and harder to see the ends. I can remember now, with a clarity that makes the nerves in the back of my neck constrict, when New York began for me, but I cannot lay my finger upon the moment it ended, can never cut through the ambiguities and second starts and broken resolves to the exact place on the page where the heroine is no longer as optimistic as she once was....All I mean is that I was very young in New York, and that at some point the golden rhythm was broken, and I am not that young anymore...."

It's funny, 3 years ago when I lived here, I didn't sense this unease with the city. Was it because I knew I was going back to Chapel Hill in 8 weeks? Was it because I was younger, and had only lived in Carolina for a year? I don't know. Maybe a combination of all of those things. I don't know how long it will take me to become acclimated here once again. Even something as simple as browsing the Craigslist ads for nannies; how different the two experiences were. Here, you can practically hear the entitlement coming off the screen in the posts. Maybe I'm cranky because of lack of sleep. Every night and every morning, I am kept awake or woken up by outside noise. At night, it's blaring music and people shouting; in the morning it is the trash truck, car alarms or some other large truck coming down the street. And because I have no a/c, my window is open. Good times. I can't wait for cold weather.

At any rate, I'm here, and need to learn some way to live in this city.

(dis)Orientation

So. The first two days of the MFA program are done. These 2 days were orientation; yesterday was the Writing Program orientation, and today was a School of the Arts-wide orientation. Yesterday, I met my cohort, all of whom seem really nice. There's about 22 or 23 CNFers. The professors all seem warm, engaging, approchable, and like they really want to help us. I can't describe it, but it's something you can feel when you're in the department. It was kind of amazing, sitting in Low Library, with most of the professors sitting in front of you, each one getting up and telling you what they did on their summer vacations. It was like, oh yeah, that's Sam Lipsyte. Read his book this summer. Oh, look, Stacey D'Erasmo. Read one of her books too. Oh, hi, Lauren Grodstein. Yup, read yours as well. Oh, Rivka Galchen, one of the New Yorker's 20 Under 40. Hello there. It was just amazing. Blew my mind. But they were all real people. They admitted to not having written over the summer, or admitted that they wrote shitty pieces over the summer, and knew it. It was refreshing to hear.

I have to be honest, I wasn't giddy with excitement beforehand. Grad school kind of loses its novelty after the first time around. But afterwards, I was excited. I felt like....I was doing what I was born to do, as crazy as that might sound. It's different than the feeling of doing something you like, or even love. It's unexplainable. At least right now.

Today, at the SoA orientation, they really emphasized getting to know each other across disciplines, because this will help us network in the future. Actors need directors who need producers who need writers, and so forth. They really, really emphasized the connections piece. And expressed that they were committed to helping us all succeed at making a living in the arts.

It's been an overwhelming 2 days. I'm exhausted. I got my books, and I will be reading 3 books a week, plus whatever I have to read for workshop. Thinking about that is kind of crazy. How will I find the time to do this?

I still am not in love with NY. It's not winning me over, not by far. I miss Chapel Hill so much, I miss NC. I miss my coworkers. I don't like feeling hyped up all the time like I am here. I don't like the noise and the brusqueness and the sensory over-stimulation. It's all too much. Going outside and getting out of my apartment, even for a few hours, knocks me over with its intensity, and I feel like I have to recharge and stay at home, in silence, reading or writing. Maybe I just need to adjust more. But I don't like the lack of community I feel here. I'm not talking about Columbia - there is a strong feeling of community at SoA, in my opinion - I'm talking about NY. Maybe this will change as 9/11 gets closer, but it's a completely different feeling here. The lack of connection irks me. People don't have time for it. We're all these bouncy balls, each of us our own sphere, just ricocheting off each other. With all the armor people wear up here, it's hard to truly touch another person.

Do I believe the program will be worth the money that I am taking out? Without a doubt. Yesterday showed me that. I have opportunities here that I don't think I would have anywhere else. Do I believe I made the right choice, deciding to go to Columbia? Yes. I am so incredibly grateful that I have this opportunity, and so thankful that I got here, despite my refusing multiple times. The opportunity to do nothing but read and write for the next 2 years blows my mind. It doesn't feel real.

I just need to find my place in NY, to find my routine and make my (temporary) home.

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.