I have a lot of time to think in NY. While I’m on the subway, walking from place to place, making meals, getting ready, falling asleep. Maybe it’s not any more time to think than regular people with a schedule have, but since I’m out here and living on my own again (with 6 roommates that is) it feels like extra time.
My point in this rambling is that I’ve been thinking about what to say RE: my first month in NYC. Last night it just clicked. I wanted to share my first month in a “how did I get here” type story. Because truth be told, I haven’t done anything incredibly notable the last few weeks. That is, besides actually moving here, to begin with.
So here’s a brief recounting of how I got here, at least the big points.
After living in NYC for three months, I came home last August as my internship was done and I didn’t have another job lined up. I continued working remotely for two months (still as an internship) and applied for jobs.
Quickly the month or so I had anticipated being home, turned into six. And somehow I kind of slipped under the radar. Anytime I ran into friends outside of my close circle, I’d always hear the same, “You’re in Utah?” To which I would be kind of surprised. I hadn’t tried to keep it a secret, it just happened that way.
Those six months were disorienting at first, but they turned into the greatest blessing. Those six months were six more months with my family, my friends, my mountains and Mexican food. They weren’t anything extraordinary. Mainly Phase 10 games, late night movies, lunch runs, birthday get-togethers and temple trips. Within that time I also took two trips back to NY for both the US Open (dream come true!) and a final interview with Kovert Creative, where I work now. I saw family in LA, traveled to Mexico, took a quick trip to Disneyland with my mom and enjoyed our annual Lake Powell trip.
Here is the thing, after the fact, those six months sound easy-breezy. A “couldn’t have planned it better” miracle! How awesome that I could have those extra months to spend with my family and friends! Yes. But during them, there were more times than I can count where I just thought, WHAT AM I DOING? I was directionless. I didn’t know what my next step was. And this isn’t how it happens, you graduate and start a job. The end. Sort of.
I could go into all of the details, but here’s what I will say.
1. I realized very quickly that this was temporary and that regardless of where I ended up working or living there would come a time in the near-ish future where I would wish for a game of monopoly with my cute brother and I would be too far away, so why not enjoy that now. It was that mindset that helped me to absolutely love and enjoy that extra time.
2. You can plan and work all day (and I did! I have no idea how many job applications and conversations I had and the whole time I was working different jobs that I was so lucky to have), but eventually, you will need the stars to align. I had my first interview with the company I’m now at in September. You never know how or when but things will work out.
3. Just Enjoy.
So more or less, that is how I ended up on a plane to New York January 17. There were tears (I mean c’mon! Obviously), but there was so much more peace because I’d taken the last six months to become more confident in myself and my decisions and my direction.
I can’t explain how exactly, but in some ways moving back to NY wasn’t a decision I had to make because it was a direction I knew I was supposed to take. I’d exhausted my options, I’d applied to jobs in several states and seriously started my search within Utah. I’d done my part and I’d argued with heaven for not making it clear sooner, but the timing could not have been better for me.
I’m not kidding myself into thinking somehow my decisions are made, life is perfect and I will have no problems for however long my NY stint is (5 years? 55 years? I have no idea). BUT whatever those problems are, why would I worry about them now?
And since you already made it this far, I have one quick funny story for you about getting out here.
The night before my flight I probably slept a total of two hours and woke up every so often panicking. Which I hadn’t done at all until the day before. By the time I got to the airport, my winter skin was stinging a lot from all of the salty tears and I was just thinking, Why the hell am I doing this to myself!? (sorry, but it’s true.)
As soon as my dad left and I got through security, I moved into a different mode. The “I am an adult and independent, here we go” mode. I watched movies and slept on the flight. No tears. I was exhausted.
Once I arrived, I hoped in a taxi with my 2 suitcases, 2 carry-ons, and 1 pillow and proceeded to listen to Taylor Swift as we drove the hour to the Upper West Side. I wasn’t really in a talking mood.
At some point, I started wondering how there is always a line of taxis at the airport. Is that a shift? Do drivers just drive back to the airport after they drop passengers off? What are the logistics? I have no idea why this was so intriguing to me, but as we approached Central Park I broke the silence and asked my driver this burning question. The answer? No idea, couldn’t understand him. But he did say, “Why? Do you want to go back to the airport? Because that works great for me!”
HA! I don’t know if I gave off that vibe, but I assured him I did not want to turn around and about five minutes later we got to my apartment.
Quite honestly, as soon as we pulled into Manhattan, I felt fine. This was familiar. This I knew.
So that’s my story. Or at least the parts I decided to share here.
THANKS FOR STICKING AROUND! Here are a few pictures in case you like those. 🙂