Pontificating : Oh The Places You'll Go

You missed me.

I signed the lease on my apartment a year ago today. In a few weeks, I'll have been in New York for an entire year. It's like no time has passed, and yet i feel like I've never lived anywhere else. But you're not getting the sappy, introspective anniversary entry. I don't feel like hugging and crying and wistfully recollecting. Ah the times! I don't want to talk about transitions and growing and redefining oneself. I've learned three things this year: 1) I'm cute and people like me; 2) I can win in a fight as long as no violence is involved; and 3) the percentage of sexual partners who secretly want to pee on you is alarmingly high.

The city is a lot less magical than you think. People come to New York City with dreams. This is wonderful, and the idealism emanating from the 20-somethings in this town is refreshing. They have visions of themselves living the cosmopolitan or creative or high-powered life they see in the movies or in their imaginations. Most of them don't get it. I didn't (not yet, at least). But the truth is what most of us do get is so much better.

I didn't have delusions of fame or fortune. You don't work at a library as a gateway to a modelling career. I did, however, watch too much Sex in the City before I moved here. I mixed it up with snippets of Will and Grace and Friends, and I basically put together this little world of cute clothes, close friends, awesome night spots where I could meet a new charming J. Crew man every Saturday, and Sunday brunches where I'd complain about his bizarre sexual quirks. Oh, and perhaps the occasional tryst with a rich older man who liked to shop. It was perfect, and I was ready to be SO good at it.

Well as it happens, I have some friends here and there, but no semblance of a tight group. I'm still bad at dressing myself, I had no interest in the Abercrombie models I met that one time, I spend many a Friday night alone with a book, I still can't get my ass out of bed in time for brunch on a Sunday, and the closest thing I've found to my rich older man is the sweaty fat guy who offered me $600 to lick my feet. And yes, I seriously prefer the way things have turned out.

I've been thinking about the phrase "Shoot for the moon; even if you miss, you'll land amongst the stars." I used to hate it because it's retarded and repeated about 50 times in my high school yearbook. But I tried reversing it, and now I like it.

What if you did hit the moon? I thought about it.

Well, way to go! Now you're stuck on the fucking moon, dumbass! Go ahead and spend your time all alone in that cratery wasteland! We failures in the stars can go wherever we want.

I have met a ton of people here (although about half of that ton was a slimy man with a fetish) and without exception the most amazing ones are those who are still shooting around the heavens. The rabid freaks, the struggling losers, the raving crazies. And I'm not talking about the people who talk to rocks and scream in the street. I'm talking about everyone. The stories are unbelievable, and becoming part of those stories is what I've learned to appreciate. What this city denies you in dreams it pays you back in gritty, perverted, unpredictable, vibrant life.

Lots of people are disappointed in where they've ended up. But imagine getting everything you dreamed about. Bo-ring! Not to mention hard. Our imaginations aren't strong enough make our dreams as exciting as our lives can be. So next time you feel frustrated that you're not living the life you like, take some time to stop looking up, start looking around, and like the life you're living. You may find you were mistaking fulfillment for failure.