And you think, now is when I have to be happy for girls who are flashing their rings at each other and complaining how hard it is to narrow down guest lists and aren’t venues so expensive and oh G-d I will always be the one who has to listen and I will always be alone and this is how things are now and I’ll just keep getting older and drifting further and further away but I will just keep listening.
When I moved to New York nearly a decade ago (!), I was terrified but also thrilled. It was a chance to live in ‘the real world’ instead of just talk about it in sociology class. But it also meant starting from zero, making new friends, getting lost, not having a warm enough coat. I had this vague idea of “I want to be a writer” but my only source of income was tutoring high school kids. One freezing night going over the Manhattan Bridge on the Q train, I saw her, the Statue of Liberty, looking right at me. I burst into tears. It’s going to be fine, she said. She was right. I’ve always been the kind of girl who deified her cities, who found faith in pavement. She was the only saint I needed.
I made a deal with myself: the day I stopped looking up for the Statue of Liberty was the day I left. That day passed. And it’s time to honor my promise.
I asked for a sign. Then I got it. And now I’m terrified and thrilled all over again.
My alma mater, everybody.
For the record, I am not the only grammar stickler who went there.
Several months ago, I wrote a story for a publication we’ll call The Paper.
I didn’t pitch The Paper. They contacted me, saying they needed someone to report on a story and that one of their staffers had recommended me as someone who knew a lot about the topic. I was pretty flattered, so I said yes. I did a lot of work - conducting and transcribing interviews, attending an event, etc - and submitted the story ahead of my deadline. The editor told me she loved it. It was published. The Paper featured my story prominently. I submitted an invoice and other relevant paperwork. The end.
Except, of course, that wasn’t the end.
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