A beautiful place.

This morning I rose early, donned items from my pathetic excuse for a winter wardrobe, and walked the path from my good friend Kristie's house to the Rose Bay ferry stop. Ah, and what a sparkling Sydney scene was there to greet me. Lapping water on a pretty beach, winter trees in the park, and a rustic paved walking track along the waterfront of the Sydney Harbour. A nice change from the relentless bucketing rain and dark cloud of last week, and one of the many reminders one gets here, of being exceptionally lucky to be alive to appreciate the wonders of the world. Sydney really is quite paradisiacally beautiful. On the weekend, my brother and I jogged to Bondi beach, and its fresh crashing waves, and bright winter sunshine hitting that awesome curve of white sand was a quite miraculous sight to behold, especially after the clamoring grime of the streets of New York. But then of course, New York has its incredibly beautiful aspects too - and not just its visual ones. New York's beauty probably lies more in the infinite possibilities it offers, and in the magic mindset that permeates its population. That collective inspiration and energy makes it a truly beautiful place. But that, very fortunately, has been and continues to be my experience of late: beautiful people, beautiful places, inspiring experiences, amazing opportunities, friends and family and strangers too reaching out to help and facilitate and connect me with more magical things and people. I may be starting to sound like a tripper, but I really feel like since answering the call to get to New York, a new flow has begun. Where things start connecting miraculously, where needs are met, desires fulfilled, hard work rewarded, where the right things and people are coming together. It may not last forever, but while things are moving in the right direction, I am very thankful to find myself in such a beautiful place.

P.S. I will also very soon be apartment hunting in earnest, so if anyone knows of any "beautiful places" going spare in New York city, totally hit me up!

KETCHUP!

That’s an obscure and not entirely relevant reference to the punch line of the joke told by Uma Thurman’s character in Pulp Fiction. Anyway. It’s been a while, so I thought a “ketchup” of somewhat enormous proportions was in order. I am writing this from Sydney, from my desk at my old advertising agency. But do not despair. While it might sound like I have slunk back to my old digs under a shadow of mission failure, this is decidedly not the case. Instead, during my recent hiatus from blogland, I have been hustling like a professional and actually kicking goals (which is more than I can say for my beloved Canterbury Crusaders rugby team in the Super 15, but the less said about that the better.). Am I sounding cocky? Well let’s not forget where I’ve been for the last two to three months: in the U. S. of A., land of self-promote or die. So yes, I have learned to project confidence and successfulness until proven otherwise, and I have achieved some good things. But I’m still not in any position to be hanging up my hustler’s hat. Specifically, since my last warblings, I interviewed again with my dream agency and talked next steps for further interviews and specific positions. Meanwhile, I was also interviewing extensively with another agency for a position that would stretch my brain in a different and satisfying direction. Six interviews deep I had a job offer. With my remaining time in the US swiftly diminishing, and delays at the dream agency meaning any kind of offer would still be weeks off, I accepted the offer I had, packed my bags, left my scuzzy yet endearing Hell’s Kitchen apartment and jumped on a plane home. Home? Where is it exactly that I live right now? Nowhere in fact, but home this time meant Christchurch, my original home, the home that will always be. Because in my final days in New York, while it was my time to be packing suitcases, it was also my grandfather Nod’s time to leave life as we know it and move on to whatever comes next. I received the news while on a jog in Central Park, and quickly became one of New York’s many public blubbers. At least I was in a beautiful environment, one that Nod, being a gentle, gardening man, would have appreciated. And so, I re-routed my trip to include a side-trip to New Zealand, then travelled a bewildering 30+ hours across the world in an attempt to make Noddy’s funeral. I missed it by an hour, but did manage to catch the after party, peopled by a childhood’s worth of friendly, familiar and comforting faces, many not seen since I was a year shy of my first pimple. It was quite a miraculous experience to step into a church hall pulsing with so much happy history, “fresh” from an epic journey, and about to embark on another – NYC round two. Anyway, where you find me, I am back in Sydney, earning dollars while having my visa stuff processed. And before I head back I have many things to arrange, like the small detail of a roof over my head, and how to transport my worldly possessions to my new home without emptying my bank accounts. This year, it seems, was meant to be a mind-boggling one, filled with many moves and many tiresome yet necessary tasks. Still, I am happy that I have achieved what I set out to from my first NY stint: a writing job in the big smoke, and a to be continued with my agency number one. Time then, to get down with my US spellings and local words – of which, come to think of it, “ketchup” is one.