take these broken wings and learn to fly.

I just heard the song "Blackbird" by the Beatles for the first time today, and it sent a shiver down my spine. It is such a simple, beautiful song.

"Blackbird singing in the dead of night,

Take these broken wings and learn to fly.

All your life

You were only waiting for this moment to arise...."

How many of us patch up our wings and fly to our next destination? Some people never mend their wings and get stuck, and miss out on life. Others force their wings to heal too fast and end up reinjured and hurt. And yet others go slowly and let themselves be helped and cared for, and eventually fly off on the rest of their journey.

I like to think that I am one of those who flies on with my journey.

Bring on the song.

Last August, I wrote this post, about making the decision to pursue writing. Little did I know that 10 months later, I would be going to a well-respected, Ivy League MFA program - one that I applied to simply because I HAD to at least try to get in. I had applied to Columbia back in 2005, on a whim, and didn't expect to get in this time, either. 6 years ago, I didn't really believe in myself as a writer. And now, even though I struggle with it, I have really begun to identify myself as a writer. Although even the other day, I mentioned to someone that I still feel like Columbia must have mixed me up with someone else, admissions-wise. The changes in my life in the past 10 months have been overwhelming and, dare I say, even life-changing.

I made a decision about my life based on my own crazy dreams, not even knowing if I'd be able to do it - it's not "practical", it's not lucrative....but it is what I love, and it seems like everyone else saw it before I did.

I joined a running group that has, without a doubt, been so helpful in making me feel like an athlete again, and has helped me listen to my body by forcing me to walk instead of run, helping to prevent further injury. I feel strong again when I am with these women - but at the same time, softer. Softer because it takes a lot for me to join a group and put myself out there - but I did it, all by myself. Over the past few weeks, my hard and jagged edges have smoothed out.

I was accepted to an MFA program, and though I kept turning it down, the opportunity refused to go away. I am meant to be in this program.

I got a job at an indie bookstore and love it. I get to read and talk with people about books all day. I am learning about how publishing works, marketing, and get to go out to dinner with authors and their publishers/agents. And I get tons of ARCs (Advance Reader Copies), which are free books. Score.

On my birthday blog post, I wrote that I want my thirties to be about abundance and not restriction. Is this scary, opening up my life and myself? To quote my girl Sarah Palin, you betcha. My life is in flux for the next 2 months - me, the girl who likes a neat and orderly plan, is living in somewhat organized chaos. But I believe it will be worth it.

Despite all these changes and alterations to my life, there is a part of me that feels like I'm getting back to myself. I don't think I've been this excited - or scared - about something in a long time. I'm not sure when the last time was that I felt this kind of possibility. I know that my past hasn't been a waste. I will be volunteering at a cancer writing therapy program, and I'd love to come back to Chapel Hill and start one here, eventually. As a professor of mine wrote to me recently, there is more than one way to get to where you want to be. My way just happened to be a little more complicated, with unexpected detours.

Last summer, I listened to the song "Bring on the Wonder" on repeat as I was trying to figure out my life, and to this day, it is a song that for me, will represent everything this process has meant to me.

"Bring on the wonder, bring on the song. I've pushed you down deep in my soul for too long...." - Susan Enan

Bring on the wonder, indeed.

life.

I haven't posted in a while because life has been extremely hectic, with packing up my stuff from my old place, moving to my friend's house for 2 weeks, transit, packing/unpacking....it is exhausting. And time sucking. But now hopefully things will calm down and fall into a sort of routine.

Work is going really well, I love my job. The bookstore has regular customers who come in several times a week, and even the people who've only met me once, remember my name. These are usually the older people who live in the village the store is in. It's a great community. I love recommending books to people, to know the perfect book for what they're looking for....to talk with them about books and writers and stories, is wonderful. I am being exposed to so many new authors and books, it's great.

I am trying to get back into reading a lot, since come September, I will be expected to read 2-3 books A WEEK. Plus write papers on them. And submit writing regularly. It kind of overwhelms me, how much will be expected of me. But I knew it was a demanding program when I applied. It still doesn't seem quite real that I really AM going.

I am very sad to think that I will be leaving Carolina in a few months. I literally cannot imagine packing my Jeep up and driving up North and not returning for a while. If I think about it too long, it breaks my heart.

sinking in.

I mailed in my next deposit to Columbia, and am going. Just last week, when I had finally reconciled that I wasn't going to go, everything changed. And now it's a reality, and it's finally sinking in. I moved most of my stuff out yesterday and am in a state of limbo, re:moving, right now. It should be over soon, but I hate living out of duffle bags.....and I think I packed stuff I need. It looks like I will be on a very limited wardrobe for the summer. Awesome.

So now that it's definite, I'm going to start reading more books by Columbia profs. Working at a bookstore makes this easy. I got Sam Lipsyte's "The Ask" and will be reading it as soon as I'm done with this Stegner book I'm really loving, "Crossing to Safety."

But this also brings with it the bittersweet sadness that comes with leaving North Carolina and leaving Chapel Hill. I love it here. I love how so many people who grew up here are still here and all know each other. I love how strangers in coffee shops strike up conversations with you and it turns out you have a lot more in common than you thought. I love how people still wear Crocs here, without irony. And the clear, Carolina-blue skies. I love Friday/Saturday night movies on the Green, and Sunday night music on the Green.

My soul has settled, here in Chapel Hill, and for that, I am forever thankful. But on the other hand, I know that going to Manhattan is where I should be in a few months. I can always return to Chapel Hill.

I can't wait for that day.

endings and beginnings

Today was Muhlenberg's graduation. I remember my graduation from there 9 years ago (my Lord, I can't believe it's been that long) like it was yesterday, right down to my uncomfortable wedge flipflops from J.Crew. I remember the bittersweet feeling I had, knowing my time there was done. They have a great tradition at the school - freshman year, one of the first nights you're there, your RA gives you a card. You are supposed to write yourself a note. You get it back the night before graduation, and it's really a great thing. They do the same thing with a Candlelighting Ceremony.

After graduation, my family and I went out for dinner, at an Italian place, and then I went back to campus, where I spent the rest of the day/night packing up last minute things in my sorority house, and spending the night down the street, at a house where my friends Alex, Kate, Matt and Brian were living. A bunch of people came over, and we spent the night drinking beer, reminiscing about old times and laughing. At one point, late in the night, we decided to walk over to our freshman dorms. We ran into Campus Safety and asked them if they'd mind opening the dorms for us, and they obliged. It was awesome, to go back and see my freshman dorm. The Campus Safety officer showed us the secret staircases the dorm had (it used to be an orphanage, I think), and even offered to take us up in the college's bell tower. I guess they were used to students walking around on graduation night.

The next day, I remember throwing the last bags into my Jeep and driving back to NJ, where 2 days later, I had my first bunion surgery.

Its funny, how sometimes it takes time for you to realize how special things are. I don't think anyone in college realizes what a unique time it is.

Oddly enough, at work today, I heard Dispatch's song "The General", which is an older song, but we listened to that on repeat graduation night.

wow.

So. The last post doesn't even begin to touch what my life has been like in the past few weeks. I had said no to Columbia, because I was freaking out about housing and living costs, you know, the day-to-day. And they came back today with an offer I just cannot refuse. In fact, when I read the email, I was getting a PO Box for the summer and nearly had a heart attack in the post office. I kept rereading it to make sure I wasn't reading it wrong. It's that great. So for sure, definitely, absolutely, positively, I will be going to Columbia in the fall for my nonfiction MFA. I am excited, and more calm than I have been in a while about it. When I said no last Friday, I spent the weekend crying and thinking about what I'd done. I realized I made the decision out of fear and lack of self-confidence. And I didn't want to keep making decisions based on fear. I've done that for so long now, always taken the safe route, kept expectations low so I don't get disappointed......but this time, I'm going balls-to-the-wall, all out, giving it 150% and allowing myself to bask in the fact that they've pursued me and have given me this great opportunity. I've worked too hard for this not to slow down and really appreciate it.

I still have the summer in Chapel Hill, to work and save money (hopefully) and enjoy North Carolina for a few months. :)

There's a reason why Columbia kept coming back, after I kept saying no. I can't help but think I am supposed to be there, and whatever Higher Power there is made sure it would happen - they could have gone to their wait list, but they didn't. I am so grateful for this opportunity. So grateful.

thinking out loud.

Alright. So. Just when life seemed to be falling into place, things may not be as they seem. I've been having doubts about Columbia for a long time. The cost alone is staggering, the amount of loans I have to add on causes me physical illness, and the cost of living in NYC is a little ridiculous, no matter how much I may love the city. I am giving serious thought to low-residency programs. I am making pro/con lists, and right now, the major (only) con to Columbia is the cost. I've already made contact with someone at MSKCC to volunteer with their Visible Ink writing program, which is something I would love to do, since it meshes psychosocial aspects of cancer with writing (hello, this is like, MY LIFE). Every alum I've spoken with says no doubt the program has enabled them to get an agent and published. But is this all worth the price tag? Will I recoup my investment/losses? I'm not sure.

If I stayed here, I would like to take my CPT exam and be a trainer while continuing my freelance writing, and I've been applying to various jobs. The job market is terrible ANYWHERE, but we'll see what happens.

I am looking at several places, including Queens U of Charlotte, Vermont College of Fine Arts (VCFA), Bennington, UC-Riverside and Lesley University. ALL are cheaper - a lot cheaper - than Columbia. And because of student health insurance, I'd also be saving A LOT of money on health insurance as well. Let me put it to you this way: 2 years of a low-res program, even the more expensive ones, would still be less than half of what I'd need to take out in loans for the first year of school/living at Columbia. How can I argue with that?? How can I, in good conscience, then go to Columbia? If I had no graduate degrees and was graduating from undergrad all over again with no debt, it'd be a no-brainer. Of course, I'd take on the debt and just GO to Columbia. But now.....I'm 30. I have 2 grad degrees. Do I really want to do this? Is this going to be worth it? But everytime I think I have my answer, I think of how many times I've been in the library lately and picked up a book by a Columbia MFA grad. Or how many authors from the New Yorker's 20 Under 40 List went to the program. Or - as obnoxious as this may sound - what the simple name "Columbia" might mean to some agent or publisher, and thus open a door for me.

I am a mess.

mending.

So. I am still super sore, my leg hurts a lot and I am waiting on an MRI appointment. They want an MRI because of the amount of swelling and bleeding under the skin - it is hard for the doctor to palpate the muscle, and he explained that up to 25% of Achilles tendon tears are missed by the ER. He's not concerned about the bottom of the tendon, but the top - under the gastrocnemius, the big overlying muscle of the calf. He said that if there is even a small tear and we don't know it, years from now when I am exercising, I could really hurt it. And we definitely want to avoid this. So he wants to make sure there are really no tears in my leg muscles. I appreciate that, since Lord knows, I've already had enough. At any rate, this has forced me to take a break from ALL activity. I cannot even swim right now, because of the fact that the movement could hurt my calf muscle if there is a tear. It hurts to stand for a long period of time, so I am pretty much a blob right now.

I am still really conflicted about Columbia. I am beginning to wonder if I should choose a low-res program instead. This way, I can stay in Chapel Hill, work, do the MFA work, still make payments on my student loans....and even Queens University of Charlotte, is only about 13k a year, as opposed to Columbia's 50k+. That is A LOT easier to stomach. A lot easier. How low-res programs work is you apply, like regular MFA programs. They're NOT "MFA-lite". They are demanding, but you do the work while working your regular job and at home. Once a semester, there are "residencies", which are usually a week long, and you go there and meet with your peers and professors. During the semester, you send your work in to your advisor, participate online on message boards and forums, etc. There are actually a lot of creative nonfiction programs, including Vermont College of Fine Arts, which is very well known, Queens, Bennington and Goucher College. I don't know. The more I think about this, it seems like the best of all worlds. Is this crazy? Would I be crazy to give up Columbia?

Someone told me a quote last week: How do you build a house?.....One brick at a time.

It's easy to want to build a house all at once, with broad strokes and rushing construction and losing perspective that lots of tiny bricks make up the larger whole. At the age of 30, I am finally really starting to realize the little bricks that go into building the house I am creating for my life, and the work it takes to create the mortar and build upon each previous days' progress.

finding grace.

A lot has happened since Tuesday. The past 24 hours have been extremely busy. Yesterday morning I got into a car accident. I was sitting at a stoplight, and all of a sudden, BOOM - a car crashed into me, causing me to hit the car in front of me. I hadn't even seen it coming, because I wasn't looking in my rearview mirror, since I was stopped. The impact sent my phone flying, my sunglasses flying off my face, and crushed my coffee cup, spilling coffee all over my console. I don't remember this, but apparently my face hit the steering wheel (yes, I was wearing my seatbelt), because my nose started bleeding. My right leg that had been on the brake banged against the dashboard and then somehow got wedged in the lever to move the driver's seat. I don't even know how it happened, but the impact was that great. He just never stopped. The driver admitted he hadn't been paying attention, and he'd had cataract surgery the day before. A Good Samaritan who witnessed it pulled over, called 911 and made sure we were okay.

Long story short, my Jeep had to be towed and I am waiting to see if it's totaled. My license plate was torn off and bent in half. The cop drove me to the hospital, and I did not have a concussion. They did x-rays to make sure there was no tibial fracture, and they don't think my calf muscle is torn. My orthopaedic surgeon wants to see me on Monday to look at my muscle, just in case. My shin is swollen and black and blue, and my calf is painful and bruised, but I am okay. I am sore all over, but I am alive and here.

Last night, when I got pictures of my nephew dying eggs, I realized how thankful I was that I was able to walk away relatively unscathed. Life really can change in an instant, and G-d forbid things had been worse.....no matter how bad things are, there is always some beauty and grace to be found. Maybe something or someone was watching over me.

So now, I am dealing with insurance companies and rental cars and so forth.....but I am alive and well, and that's all that matters, right?

There but for the grace of G-d go I.

wishing.

Be careful what you wish for; you just might get it. How often have we heard that? It's true. I hate writing this, because it sounds ungrateful, but I'm not sure I want what I wished for. I don't know if it's anxiety or fear talking - and it very well may be - but I don't know if I should go to Columbia. In all honesty, I applied thinking I'd never get in. Stupidly, again, I thought I'd get into UNC. My GRE scores were higher than last year's admitted students' scores, my writing sample (Master's thesis they wanted) got Honors, my rec letters kicked ass.....in short, I thought I would get to stay here in Chapel Hill. I wouldn't be faced with this. And I sent in my first deposit last week to Columbia, of my hard-earned money, and all I felt was dread. Fucking dread. Not even excited-dread, but full-on, from my toes DREAD. The main reason I sent the money in is because I didn't want to regret it later. Is that a good reason? I don't want to live in Manhattan again. The thought makes me sick to my stomach. I cannot even think of driving up North for good. I honestly can't even visualize it. Part of me thinks I would make it halfway, and end up driving back here. Or cry the whole 8 hours.

I struggle here. I work my ass off and live paycheck-to-paycheck, bill-to-bill. Did I think I'd be like this at 30? Not a chance in hell. But I love living here in Chapel Hill. It's the place I've lived the longest since college, and I have made a home here. It is familiar. I am healthy here. My soul is able to rest here. I have come home to myself here in a way that I'm not sure I'd be able to do in NY. Up North, there's always, always some sort of competition, or standards to live up to, especially in Manhattan. Here, it's relaxed. It's not about the latest bag, or clothes, or whatever. People are nice here. I have my tri club and am finally opening myself up to others and getting to know my teammates. I joined a running group, even though I'm only walking for now, because of my stress fracture. When I think about NY, I am not even happy. I should be. It's an Ivy League MFA. It's one of the top 20 in nonfiction writing. Alumni of the school include Kiran Desai, Dinaw Mengestu, Lionel Shriver, Alexandra Styron (William Styron's daughter), the Freakonomics author guy, and more. I will have opportunities to intern at magazines and papers and in writing programs at MSKCC.....but I cannot get excited about it. Is this just super-anxiety? Or is this my gut? I'm trying to tease this out.

The money I sent to Columbia could have gone toward my personal trainer exam. Part of me wants to forget about the rest of the deposit, get my certification, be a trainer and write. I don't even know anymore what the best thing would be for me. The thought of adding on 150k plus worth of loans makes me physically fucking sick. Would I get a book deal or make connections? Maybe, maybe not. There's no guarantee.

I don't know. I don't know anymore. How sad. I always thought I had my life planned out, a trajectory for success. And now I don't know anything and feel like I'm not quite going anywhere.