New York State of Mind

My affinity for the Big Apple began in 2000, when I had a layover in the Newark airport. I remember looking out the windows facing the Hudson and seeing the Statue of Liberty and these two massive buildings taking up the skyline. I even took a picture, but my 30mm makes the twin towers look like toothpicks, rather than the behemoths that they were. I never got any closer to them than that, but I felt a connection with the City, and I knew I'd be back to visit before long.

Well, that trip didn't come until 2008, but in those eight years between, something changed inside of me. My love for New York grew exponentially after September 11, and I quickly became the high schooler with an absurd amount of NYC paraphernalia. I spent countless hours looking at pictures, reading stories, and learning all I could about the city, and I feel like I know it better than I know my hometown. In the (very) short amount of time that I've spent in Manhattan, I feel like I've come to a place that makes me whole. That city is my city.

No amount of words can do justice to New York City. It is dirty and crowded, beautiful and energizing. The people are unlike any other, and I found a renewed hope in mankind as I wandered the streets, talked to the NYPD, and sipped chai from Balthazar's. I could spin my short time there into a novel, but suffice it to say, I love New York.

So, as I've shed tears today for that tragic day ten years ago, I am forever grateful for my New York State of Mind. I reverence those whose lives ended that day, but I know that the City - in all of its imperfect history - has made me who I am today.

How to Write

A good friend texted me today to let me know that he'd been reading my blog. As shocked as I was to realize that people actually read this stuff, I'm even more shocked that I haven't written in over a month. Sorry to you three readers; I'll try to be better.

I'm currently auditing a graduate fiction writing class at the university. (Auditing: a fancy way of saying that I have to do all the work without a grade... but I don't have to pay for it!) Well, as my first creative writing class, I'm starting to see just where I lack in terms of my writing abilities. I don't have a knack for stories (other than my own), and I'm not cut out to think of an original or eye-catching plot that will leave my readers debating their own existential dilemmas. In fact, the one line I've written so far describes crickets chirping, and I'm pretty sure that's the response I'll get from people trying to workshop my stuff. Whoops.

Nevertheless, I'm bound and determined to try my hand at fiction writing. Maybe it's because I promised myself that I'd have a novel to one-up Stephanie Meyer. Maybe it's because I'm a glutton for those red marks all over my papers. Really, though, I think it's because I know somewhere inside myself, there's a story that's itching to be told.

I've just got to find it.

Highlights

Here are the high points of my week:

Yelling at the child to "Ford the river!" when we were at the park. The river was more like a babbling brook.

Watching two-ish hours of The Nanny on a Friday night. Fran Drescher needs no other explanation.

Discussing with a three-year-old the ins and outs of gingerbread cookies, pierced ears, and the meaning of life.

Sharing my vast knowledge of Restoration Hardware and Pottery Barn. Only Nate Berkus could outshine me.

And on that note, I wish you all a good weekend.