Instead of a fakepartment, I’m sitting in a faux-ffice, French for “a desk in a hallway.” Rather than procrastinating graduate work, I’m on my lunch break weighing the health risks of a back alley Financial District quickie manicure.
Well, hello. It’s been awhile.
After moving to New York City in 2009, I realized that I was becoming increasingly baffled by the unnecessary complexity of normal things while staying completely unfazed by bizarre things. As it turns out, this is an early presenting symptom of becoming a New Yorker– before the cocoon and the all-black wardrobe acquisition. Noting this change, I did what any self-respecting procrastinating grad student would do: blog about it. And so, HOW TO BE A NEW YORKER was born.
Then, I fell off the face of the planet for two years, and so did this blog. My venture into social obscurity coincided with my attempts to trick people into thinking I’m employable. The blog was on lock down, I (briefly) stopped day drinking, I bought a zillion cardigans, and I started practicing saying sentences like “Pedagogical development is necessary for effective standards-based education” and “No, I do not have a criminal background” so I could say them convincingly in interviews. And once I started teaching, there was no time for anything: going out, exploring, meeting people, pooping, blogging.
I made the difficult but wise decision to leave teaching and slowly get my personal life back. When 2010-2011 the school year ended, I hugged my kids goodbye, cried, packed up the classroom, and prepared for subsequent hibernation (read: an office job). Now with a new job, more spare time than I thought humanly possible, untwisted bowels, four bear cubs, and few real connections made in this vast city, I still find myself as an outsider looking in. I’ve lived here for three years, but I haven’t really lived much at all (she says, poignantly, as a single tear rolls down her cheek and into her personal pan pizza).
Nothing much has changed, but I’m looking forward to changing.