New York City

I met a guy that moved to New York only two months ago. He mentioned that the move has been harder than originally anticipated. I empathized. Completely.

He described exactly what I went through almost one year ago, the feelings and emotions of despondency that lasted seven months. Seven looooong months as I searched for jobs, interviewed at places, and stuffed my face with nachos as I watched Ellen, Oprah, and very bad made-for-TV movies.

Oh, I did start this blog when unemployed. That was a bright moment.

My mom mentioned that even when she knew I was down, I always sounded happy and excited in my stories. I told her that’s the mark of a good writer… or liar. Unfortunately for me, probably the latter.

Anymore, I forget the feelings of loneliness and frustration that accompanied returned resumes with a “sorry, but…” attached to it. I even forget that New York made me pay hundreds of dollars to retake state exams because of no state reciprocity with, well, basically anywhere. Now, all I can remember is the excitement and rush of moving to New York City with the man of my dreams, the anticipation of starting something new in one of the wildest cities in the world.

The girl that I was then is not the same person that I am now. My view of New York has changed for the better, and I get to do and see things that would be impossible somewhere else – hidden restaurants, Broadway plays, celebrities, public transportation, any food any time. It’s all an experience.

My advice to the new guy was to just hang in there because it gets better. At least, I can say, it got much, much better for me.