blah.

Wow. I can't believe October is more than halfway over. The semester is definitely in full swing. We're all a bit overwhelmed with reading (this week I had 4 books to read.....I still have one book to read for Thursday). It's intense, I have to say. And as our professor mentioned tonight (and he's an editor at a major publishing house here in the city), the program has certain expectations of you once you're done.....like going downtown to a publishing house and publishing your damn book. And the program attracts a certain kind of ambition. (or masochism, the two might be interchangeable in this instance). But although the pressure is building, I have to say I do love this environment. I am the type of person who, when I'm busy, I take on MORE things because having a lot to do gives me structure, it lays out expectations and I have clear directions on where to go, what to do and what needs to be produced. I'm applying to be on the editorial staff/reading board of Columbia's lit mag, and Friday is an info session on becoming an Undergraduate Writing Fellow, which is when grad students teach parttime and take classes parttime, so it takes you an extra year to finish the program, but your tuition and health insurance are paid for, and you get a nice little stipend. I think 22k. Of course, EVERYONE wants this. So that will be some competition. Everyone is so smart and talented here, so it will be a tough situation.

Living in NY is getting better, I have to say. Do I love it as much as I did when I was younger? Nope, not at all. But do I hate it with the fervor I had a month or two ago? No. I admit, having restaurants and places open 24/7 is nice, and the falafel here can't be beat.....except in Israel. And Zadie Smith is coming to Columbia Thursday, which I am SUPER excited about. (I have to get a book of hers for her to sign). I am looking forward to going to Chapel Hill next week, though. I need that, I need to get back to familiar people, familiar places.....a slower pace for a few days. A friendlier atmosphere.

Something unexpected IS happening though. I'm finally realizing that I'm an adult. I know, I'm 30, I should have realized this ages ago, right? But I often feel like I look 15 and feel like I'm still that awkward high school girl. Except I'm not. And being here, among 22, 23, 24 year olds, I realize that I really am an adult. This week's New York magazine had an article about the new generation of young adults......and I'm not in it. I am the verrrrrry tail end of Generation X. I have more in common with them then the generation after me. It was very, very odd to read this and feel so disconnected. And this morning, brushing my teeth, I realized that the white and silver hairs on my head have exponentially multiplied. As in, my bangs and the hair around my face definitely show a shock of white. That was sobering. As was last week, after going out with some classmates and having a few drinks, and waking up the next morning, feeling like complete shit. 5, 10 years ago, four beers would have been a WARM-UP. Now, it's enough to cause a massive hangover and wish I never drank at all. The whole thing is just really......odd. I mean, I've been paying bills and rent for years, so it's not like I was living at home and being babied....but this feels different, somehow.

ramblings.

Today I am missing Chapel Hill and North Carolina so much it takes the breath from my lungs. The longing comes on so fierce that it actually stuns me for a second. Maybe because we've reached that point in the semester where the momentum from the beginning is starting to wane, and we need to just keep pushing til the end. The intensity of this program is no joke. I can see why I was told that many people don't work during the program. Which leads me to another stressor.....the website I typically write for is undergoing some changes, and I haven't been able to write anything for 3 weeks - it was originally supposed to be 3-4 days. I've emailed people about nanny jobs and have been looking online for other writing jobs, but no luck, especially part-time or freelance. Ideally, I'd like freelance, to work around my schedule and work. The bookstore near me isn't hiring, and they're actually not so friendly, so I'm not sure I'd be happy there. So, yeah. Combine not working with NY cost of living and paying bills/loans, and you've got some homesickness for NC.

fear and loathing in NY.

"I am not afraid. I was born to do this." I recently saw this quote on a bracelet and I loved it. It was said by Joan of Arc. The more I thought about it, though, I wondered whether the two had to be mutually exclusive -- not being afraid, and doing what you were born to do. My thinking is that even if you're meant to do something, you can still be scared shitless. Following your heart and dreams and destiny is scary. It's normal to be afraid. Personally, I think if you're not even the tiniest bit afraid, you don't have much invested in whatever you're doing.

School is going well. Very, very busy. My eyeballs are about to fall out of my head, we have so much reading all the time. But when else in my life am I going to HAVE to read 3-4 books a week? When will I ever have this time again? I won't. So I'm enjoying it now. Sometimes I'll be like, shouldn't I be doing something else instead of sitting here, reading? Nope, I have to read! Very thankful for this. I think about this every time I go on campus - how close I came to not coming here, how many times I turned them down....but it was meant to be. And aside from not loving NYC and the nerves about coming here, I don't regret it. The professors are amazing, they really love what they do and care about us and our success, and though the students are competitive, they're nice, overall. I would definitely recommend Columbia to people thinking about the MFA......is there debt? Most definitely. All of my friends here are on federal loans, but that's most people at this school. And you never know what fellowships or aid can open up.

I never really think of writing as an "art", but it is, obviously - it's housed in the School of the Arts. It's odd, being an art school student. Very different than the sciences. The license to pursue creativity in every way is new to me. I've found that I need to approach books and stuff with a different mindset than I had for psych and public health. It's hard to get back into that after NOT doing it for so long. And I don't know how it is for fiction or poetry folks, but for us nonfictioners, we're constantly being told to delve deep into our stories, say things that haven't been said, to write where there's heat.....sometimes it feels a little like group therapy. Which I guess I should have expected a little bit. I mean, a bunch of writers? I don't know what will happen in the winter, when seasonal affective disorder kicks in and we all become tortured, depressed artists.

Living in NY? Expensive. Sometimes I still get sticker shock over the most basic things. I have to remind myself that not only am I back up North, but I'm in one of the most expensive cities in the country. I miss Chapel Hill every day. I miss the people, I miss the landscape, I miss my work, I miss it all. I'm beginning to fall into a routine and developing the habits I had as a New Yorker before, but there's something different, something a little softer and nicer about me this time around. I do still miss the everyday human connections. Sometimes I find them here, when a thug-looking kid gives an elderly person their seat on the subway, or when someone holds the door for me. I try to wish cashiers a nice day when I buy things. Kindness means so much more to me now.

workshop blues.

Well. Things are going better here. I don't actively hate NYC every minute of every day; sometimes I even enjoy walking around my Upper West Side neighborhood. I like getting exercise without meaning to, and a falafel place nearby, and Pinkberry.....but it still, in my heart of hearts, doesn't beat Carolina.

I had my first workshopping experience this past Wednesday. I gave two pieces to my workshop group the week before, and they critique it. How we usually do it is this: we talk about what we liked first, then give our criticisms. Well, she asked about my pieces.....and no one said a thing. NO ONE. Really? You mean to tell me no one liked parts of it, or my voice, or a line or two? It was like pulling fucking teeth. It was excruciating to sit through. It was good to hear the criticisms and read them - too general, need more detail, etc etc - they're right. But it was the way it was handled that completely destroyed my morale. I came home, never wanting to write again. Somewhere deep in my heart I knew I couldn't suck completely; Columbia wouldn't have given me all this money if I were really terrible. But it was just so disheartening and demoralizing. I haven't written anything since then, and am gripped with anxiety every time I sit down to write. I don't even want to write anything personal or dear to my heart for next workshop, for fear it will be torn to shreds. And now I'm paralyzed when I go to write, thinking I'm not doing it right, that I suck, etc.

I know I need to push through this, that MFA programs are meant to weed people out. And if your writing doesn't hurt you when ripped apart, it's probably a piece of shit to begin with. But I guess I wasn't prepared for it.

They say revision is the best revenge...

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.

leavin' on a jet plane.

For the first time since moving here, I'm really happy. Why? Because I just booked my ticket to North Carolina for October. *sigh*.

I love my classes. I love school. Why aren't I loving NY? Why is this such an adjustment this time? I'm not sure, and it's something I think about daily. I mean, it's in front of me every day.

Anyway. Now I have something to look forward to.

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.