The incoherent rambling of a wannabe writer

Magazines have always been a favorite outlet of mine. Their glossy pages and giant letters called to me and encouraged me to pay the $5 for the random issue that stood out in front of me on the newsstand that day. That’s how I knew I wanted to write. I wanted to be one of the people whose names were printed in small black letters under a grand article title. I just didn’t know how to get there. So I interned. I spent every summer from the age of 16 to the age of 19 working in the editorial office of KIWI Magazine where I did everything from fetch office supplies to research holiday gift guides in June. It was not what I imagined. So I went to college.

In college I studied communication, focusing on journalism. I pretended I knew what I was doing when writing essays at 4am or when researching for an article about “BENNYs” for the school’s newspaper. But I could never say my heart was fully in it. I never felt complete after turning in a mock article. But I remember loving the research. I loved being given a topic and thinking of only that topic for 3 days straight; spending hours in the library researching and printing, I practically had my own computer there. But this was school. Life would surely be different. It was this thinking that lead to a new internship. My cousin’s girlfriend was working in the advertising department for a beautiful food magazine. She sold advertising space to mom and pop shops on the East Coast. She told me her friend in the marketing department was looking for an intern to help out for the summer. I decided to give it a go.

That summer was one of the best I’d ever had. I was almost an adult, I worked in an amazing office, I made a few friends, but was only allowed into the editorial office when dropping something off. Apparently there is a hard line between the business side and the creative side of a magazine. And that summer I was on the wrong side. So instead, I took home back copies and studied the glossy pages. I worked on their summer events and followed the magazine’s publisher around as if she were a god. I don’t think she ever actually took notice of me, though. Didn’t matter, I was where I needed to be at that time.

Next summer I graduated college. I was given the opportunity to intern there again, but turned it down in favor of a paying job… One I did not have yet.

July 2013 I was offered an advertising coordinator position at one of the biggest newspaper publishing companies in the country, so I took it. It really is all about who you know. I assumed I would work at the newspaper during the day and write at night. And that is how this blog was born. My first post was sent from my parents house in Naples, Florida the day before I flew back to New York to start my first real job.

But as days passed into weeks, and weeks into months my writing became almost nonexistent. By the following February I had sunken into a full blown depression. I wasn’t mentally prepared to work in a windowless office in a position that required absolutely no creativity. I was miserable and couldn’t even hide it anymore. By March I had booked a trip to Europe. My favorite place in the entire world was Rome, I thought it was about time I had gone back. After extensive googling and convincing, I bought a slightly sketchy groupon for a 6 day trip that would bring me to Paris for three days and Rome for another three. That November, with my boyfriend of a year in tow (much to my parents’ chagrin,) I touched down in Paris and squished the two of us into a train with the morning rush hour traffic.

The next three days we met Paris.

I visited museums and ate croissants. I was dumb and hadn’t researched enough, but it was fine. I was in Paris after all! We walked around the city eating crepes and ogling  fancy stores. On the fourth morning we woke up early and left our Moroccan themed hotel for the last time. We shuffled our way into Charles de Gaulle airport with sleep in our eyes and pillows in our hand. While walking to our gate, I passed the French version of the Winter issue of my old magazine, and it definitely caught my eye. Snowflakes covered the magazine name and every headline was in French, bien sûr. I needed it.

I have only ever bought magazines on the stand. I enjoy having the ability to buy whenever I please. I don’t feel rushed to read it and can take a month or a year if I so choose. But today something was different.

This afternoon, while reading the beginning of The Art of Editing No. 3 I was given the option to continue reading if, and only if, I subscribed to the Paris Review. I had always enjoyed the Paris Review but hadn’t been a loyal reader. But I was entranced by the article. The interviewee had my total and complete attention and I wanted to be her. I wanted to know everything there was to know about her life and her work, her career and her current whereabouts, so I subscribed.  I was given the option to subscribe for one year of four issues, or two years of eight. Each option gave me a “free gift” of interviews from over the years and neither was cheap. I have spent the last two years deciding whether I want to spend the $6 to subscribe to Conde Nast’s Traveler even though I check their site weekly, but this morning, I deep dove into a $95, two year subscription of a literary magazine that I rarely read.

Is this what a stroke feels like?

Yes ok, that was dramatic of me to say. But I feel different. As I get older, more of me is looking to become the elegant literary buff I wanted to be as a kid and less of me is looking to write. My book collection has grown 10 fold just from last January, and I haven’t even read half of them yet. I think it’s funny that now I dress in mostly black, with dark sunglasses and avoid eye contact with strangers so that I seem more mysterious. None of this is intentional now. Now it is just me, the way I react to being here, in a job that requires no creativity. I guess I’ve accidentally decided to let myself sink into invisibility so that when I do let out my creative ideas people are surprised, instead of expecting them the way they used to.

Reading and writing have always been my hobbies, they were my wheelhouse, so to speak. They were where I was most comfortable. But now I tend to gravitate to words that are already written; concrete ideas that don’t need me to develop them. I shy away from writing and it makes me sad. But writing isn’t something you’re just good at all of a sudden. You need to practice. I just wish I had more motivation to.


I think I’m lost

Since starting a new job four weeks ago, a lot of my free time (not that I have much) has been spent panicking over my future. 

  • What will I do? 
  • Where do I go from here? 
  • How will I support myself as an adult? 
  • Do I really want to continue on this road?
  • Where does this road even lead?
  • Was this a mistake?
  • Why did I leave my old job?
  • Am I smart enough to be here?
  • Do I even know what I’m doing??

At any given moment, these and countless other extremely frightening  questions can be found swimming through my head, drowning any thought of happiness  or contentment. My brain swells with thoughts that threaten to keep me awake at night, staring into the dark abyss, uncomfortably aware that I might never make anything of myself. Of course I can’t begin getting comfortable at this new place. Everything is wrong. I’m not smart enough to be here. I’m not smart enough to be anywhere! I’m useless and talentless. There is nothing more disheartening then realizing that you are mediocre, that you possess no unique talents, and that there are plenty of other people who can do exactly what you do, only way fucking better. 

So then, the question becomes how does one make it through this unscathed? Or at least in one piece… Can I get better? I can take classes. I can go back to school. But do I really way to spend all my money for a masters degree in something I probably won’t like in 3 years? Could I even make it through the program? How much does a master degree cost? Would I be able to budget my time accordingly? I can’t commit to this… What if I don’t like it and don’t want to do it after a few days? Do universities offer refunds? This is way too much for me. 

My mind feels like a WWE wrestling match. Right now, any form of delight I might have had over now working in Soho, or living at my summer house, or even the God damn weather, is getting beaten to a pulp with a folding chair in the corner of the ring, with its head lolling lower and lower and it’s nose bleeding profusely. I can’t tell if I’m frustrated about not having a general direction to run in, or if I’m completely terrified of it.

Having a goal would help tremendously. But as you can see, I’m goal-less. The way I see it, I’m basically spitting in the wind, hoping it won’t come back and hit me in the face. But I know it will. Your career doesn’t seem like the kind of thing you want to follow the current with, if that makes sense. This is not a “go with the flow” kind of situation. I can’t just see where the stream takes me. Unless I’m wrong. And while it is highly probable that I am wrong, I’m still pretty damn screwed, possibly more then originally anticipated. Because if your career is something that you want to lift your feet for and follow the current, I might not be able to relinquish control long enough to. I like to pretend that I’m spontaneous and adventurous, but if I’m being serious here, the most spontaneous thing I’ve done all week was stop to get gas this morning on my way to work when my gas light when on earlier than anticipated.

So what do I do?

Do I spend the money, go back to school and hate the masters I’m only a quarter of the way through with? 

Do I try and stick with the current plan and work to be an advertising sales representative, even though I know full well that I’d be the worst salesperson in the whole universe? Or do I just quit, steal a cardboard box and sleep on the beach in Breezy Point for the rest of my life?

I have no fucking clue. Maybe I need a life coach.

The Realist Vs. The Romantic

(Taken from here)

Talking to my mom made me realize that I might be more of a realist than I originally thought. Or maybe not? I don’t know. Let me explain…

I love my boyfriend. I love him dearly and I know that eventually we will be married. But whether that’s in a year or 5 years (which I certainly hope it’s not that long) I know we will be married, we will grow old together and make a life and home together and eventually die and together we will haunt the heck out of people and absolutely love every second of it. 

That being said, I don’t think getting married young is the best thing for me. Ok so I’m not 18, but 24 is still barely considered an adult by my generation. In my office no one under 30 is married. Actually, no one under thirty is even in a relationship besides me. But my reasoning behind not wanting to be married yet has nothing to do with my coworkers. I want to be ready.

I want to be emotionally, financially, and physically prepared to create a life with a man I never want to be apart from. And because of that, I don’t think getting married yet is a good idea. 

But to get back to my original statement; my mother was looking through the university magazine that my sister got from the college she is currently a sophomore in. While skimming the pages, my mom found an article about all of the couples who got married on campus this year, including multiple couples that only graduated a year or two ago. I callously said they were dumb. I should have kept my comment to myself but I didn’t think anything of it as I blurted it out. My mother asked why I felt this way and I explained that as a 23/24 year old, you’re still a kid; you’re probably not making much money, you barely have a legitimate job (if one at all,) and there’s a decent chance you don’t even know who you are as a person. While giving my reasons, I forgot that my parents were 23 and 24 when they walked down the isle. My mom tried to explain that when you love someone your priorities change and money  eventually makes its way into your life. But with half of marriages ending in divorce and one of the main reasons for separation being money issues, would you really want to take what chance with someone you love, was my answer. 

That’s when I think she gave up on me. She already had doubts about my relationship and I think I accidentally added my fuel to the fire. But like I said, I didn’t mean too. My main point was that I plan on getting married once, to the man I am currently dating and am absolutely in love with. And when I marry him, I plan on making it perfect. So I plan on being financially stable. I want to make sure I can avoid whatever issues are avoidable. I want to make sure that if we do decide to start a family, he and I will be able to give our family everything it needs to grow and more. I know I can’t plan for everything but I would like to at least try. I want to be an adult, even if I may not feel 100% adult-like.

So maybe I’m realistic, or maybe I’m the dreamer. Maybe this is all ridiculous and my mom is the realist while I, the self proclaimed heart of ice, am the romantic. Maybe the idea of being financially stable is a myth and I’m the one harping on fantasies when I can be planning a wedding. 

But I guess I’ll just have to wait and see how it all goes. Wish me luck.

Goals… Kind of

Growing up is a funny thing, you know? My entire life, college was my goal. I knew from kindergarten that I would eventually attend a university. I was going to go somewhere amazing with ivy covered buildings and I was going to study really hard and I was going to be a success.

Somewhere between kindergarten and actually getting into college, I realized that I had never made a plan for after college. Finally, I was about to enter an old ivy covered hall and had no idea how to get back out.

Fast forward 6(ish) years and I am seen as an adult by the world. I have a job with a steady paycheck at a newspaper company in Manhattan, and I have absolutely no idea what the heck I will be doing for the rest of my life. At the moment, the most terrifying question someone could ask me is “where do you see yourself in 5 years?” Dude, I don’t even know where I see myself tomorrow. No one ever told me deciding what I want to do with my life would be this difficult. No one ever said it would have to be decided so suddenly, I guess. My parents always told me I needed to have a plan, that the only way to get through life is to have goals, and for the first time in my life I have no plan, no direction, not even a vague idea of what I want and how to get there. To quote Pheobe Buffay, “I don’t even have a ‘pla’.”

So now what do I do? Where do I go from here? How do I climb up the corporate ladder (or any ladder with a pay check, honestly) to become the badass I want to be? I know I want to be successful, I know I want a badass career by the time I’m 30 but other than that, I know nothing and I absolutely hate it. How did this happen?? How did I let this happen? This scares me. If there was ever a time for my dead ancestors to show and guide me, this would be it. But until I see some dead people, I’m going to have to organize my life.

I tried today, kind of. Well, I went to Staples, at least. Staples is the place I would go in college when I was stressed and needed to organize myself. So I went. But the Staples by me sucked. So I bought $8 worth of candy and came back to my office. I’m obviously far from where I need to be but I guess this is a start. Hopefully, I can figure out the plan I need to have and finally get my life on the track I want it on.

Until then, I’m going to eat these chocolate turtles and research Santorini. Why? Because getting there is a goal, and goals are good.


I finally changed my blog name and url. Everything is different and awesome and it was time.

When I started this blog I was in a completely different place in my life. I was 21 years old, I had just graduated college, I could funnel two beers in 4 seconds, I was about to start my first real job in Manhattan, I was single, I ate Chinese food and pizza as breakfast, lunch, and dinner, I partied like a college kid, I was able to function – like actually be a real person with less than 3 hours of sleep and random naps during the day, I lived with my friends, I was enjoying life, I didn’t know what I wanted to do in life, but I was so happy and nervous and giddy and excited and anxious about what would come next that it didn’t matter.

Now I’m different.

I’m 22, I work a 40 hour work week, I can down an espresso in 4 seconds without burning myself, I realized how depressing working 8 hours a day really is, I’m in love with the cutest dork in the world, I diet most of the time, I sleep from 10pm to 6am every weekday night, I live home with my family who I barely see during the week, I get sad during the winter, but I’m still happy and nervous and giddy and excited and anxious because I’m home with people I love that make bread randomly and know which fruit snacks to buy me from Costco.

My life is different, I’m different and I’m starting to understand that that is ok. It’s ok that I’m not the same person I was a year ago. It’s not bad that I’ve grown and realized what is good for me (fruit) and what is bad for me (Chinese food 4 times a week.) It is alright that I don’t spend my Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday nights in a bar downing tequila and screaming the words to old songs. I don’t need to be that person anymore because, as much as I’ve tried to fight it, I am growing up. I’m becoming an adult. I’m drinking coffee at 8 in the morning to prepare myself for work instead of at 3 in the morning to keep me going through an all-nighter. I’m interested in other things besides myself and it’s pretty cool.

Yes, I miss having no responsibilities. Yes, I miss the naps and the free time and the jello shots. But that’s ok. Jello shots aren’t bad for you when had every once in a while. Plus, the wait in between makes them taste better.

So, here’s to new beginnings, growing up, work days, business lunches, days off, weekend getaways, iced coffees and gummy worms.