3 months in the city.

Ah, another blue-sky Williamsburg Saturday. Rustically attired hipsters filter past my window, rugged up against the brisk air and carrying potted cactuses/secondhand danish designer chairs etc they've picked up from the local markets and junk shops. And what am I doing? Sorting out my life again. But all is well. As you may have guessed from previous posts, my first three months living proper in New York have been what one might call monumentally challenging. Every survival faculty of my body and brain has been called upon to negotiate the crazy-scape that is planet NYC - the swarming hives of jobland, the gassy mechanics of the city's ever-whirring operations, and the alien breeds that variously march, crawl, limp or float the streets. And there have definitely been moments when I have thought my delicate, oxygen-softened tubes may not be built to breathe whatever it is they call air around here. But as is my pattern, I have chaotically battled my way through the demon zone, and have come out the other end a somewhat new beast myself. A recent visit from my angel sister Anna has rejuvenated me, and restored my belief in my ability to achieve great things in this town. A positive 3-month Performance Review at work has confirmed I haven't been doing as terribly as I might have sometimes suspected - in fact I've actually been doing quite well. And all of it together has awakened a clear vision of my plan for the next little while. My next phase is a time for ordered hard work. With my head a little clearer on what I'm actually doing, I can better focus my energy in the right areas. With the temperatures plummeting, I can get more into my day-life indoor activities than my night-life rampaging-about ones. More sleep, more exercise time (in the brand new, very pleasant and handy gym down the hall from my apartment), more time spent on projects and productiveness. It all feels like a happy plan for my winter months. So today I'm cleaning up my house, re-blonding my hair, catching up on a little blogging, and doing a little work and a little exercise. And then I'm going out for a relaxed dinner with some Aussie pals. Nice. And so the next phase begins.

M.I.A.

Over the last more than little while, my family, friends, and yes even you (are you still with me?), could have been forgiven for thinking I'd fallen off the planet. In fact, trying to think back, I'm not really 100 percent sure where it is exactly I have been. Well no, naturally I've been in New York - where else? But "being" in New York is quite a different thing to being anywhere else. I may have mentioned before that I think NYC is built on magic rocks. They're the rocks that give this city that crazy, heady gas cloud of wow energy that hangs in the air. But now I have an addition to the theory. I now have a hunch as to where those rocks get the energy from. It's from us. The fevered worker ants teeming the streets, jerking nervily from workplace to watering hole, saturating zizzy stress vibes with blurring wines and whiskeys, clambering home in some gangle-limbed fashion, then landing in bed to grasp at wispy tufts of sleep and elusive dreams before it all begins again. Those rocks fill us with excitement, spur us on with the promise of big things, then laughingly suck every gasp of useable energy back out of us in return. And if they're feeling a little nasty, they belch a puff of exhaust and pollution for us to gulp down as we clamour for air. So, if you were wondering, that's where I've been. Galloping wildly along some treadmill that doesn't make you thin or healthy, but instead drives you to drink, delirium, and various foods containing melted cheese. The melted cheese is awesome. The drink and crazy thoughts not so much. Now of course, it's not all bad. I've met and continue to meet some top-notch, interesting and hilarious characters. And I seem to have become almost complacent about the absolutely everything that is on offer here in terms of world class entertainment, art, events, minds etc - but my complacency doesn't make it any less totally cool. Only I have a sense at the moment that there is a crucial change I need to make to truly come alive here. I know I'm on the right track, but maybe I got off at the wrong station. The good thing with that of course, as one discovers here, is that a wrong station stop isn't too hard to fix. You just get on the next train and you'll soon be where you need to go. So I'll be working on that. And I may be wandering around in the wilderness for a small time. But that's okay. It may be wild and crazy and taxing as hell out here, but last time I checked, adventures were all pretty much built that way. And until I find out why I had to come on this one, you definitely won't catch me running away.

Tough town.

There's a popular phrase down under: "Toughen the fuck up". I have had cause to think of this phrase often, living in this town. Moving countries isn't easy. Moving countries and changing jobs is even less so. Doing it all in New York Fuckin City takes the cake. Don't get me wrong, this city is one of the greatest. It's exhilarating to be here, right up against so many amazing possibilities and amazing actualities every day. But therein also lies the problem: you're up against it. New York has a way of showing you at extremely close range just how sensational things can indeed be, while simultaneously making sure you're aware just how hard it will be to get to a point where those sensations are your own. Even when you're not trying to reach the lofty heights, just trying to get your basic shit together takes a lot of hard work. Holding down a job, getting an apartment, getting from A to B (via the L if you're me), finding people you want to hang out with, finding time to hang out, finding time to sleep, exercise, take any care of yourself whatsoever. It's a struggle. And I'd be lying if I said it hasn't been stressing me the fuck out. That's probably one of the reasons my skin has been breaking out (city grime hasn't been helping), which has also been stressing me the fuck out. I routinely wonder if I may have made an enormous mistake, or if today might be the day I discover the joys of having my first panic attack. But I keep reminding myself this isn't meant to be easy, and I'm doing okay. Next week I will move into my own apartment - my first fixed abode in six months. That's progress sister. So toughen the fuck up.

Living the dream.

It occurred to me the other day as I hurtled across the Williamsburg Bridge in my yellow cab, that right now I am in fact living out my dreams. What’s interesting though, is what the dream actually feels like when it becomes real. It’s lucky I’m writing this today, because today I’m feeling pretty ace. If I’d written it on another day, it might have been a little less chipper, and a lot more agitated. Because while dreams tend to consist of a few well chosen frames shot through the flattering haze of a Vaseline smeared lens, reality is a little more gritty. It’s a little less smooth, a little more lumpy.  As Shakespeare told us, all’s well that ends that way. And because I’m writing this story today – a happy day – we can conclude all is well. But my, it’s been quite a ride. Now in my third week at my new place of work, I have only just started to really clue in to exactly what it is I’m meant to be doing around here. I have only just managed to use my desk phone with any degree of confidence, and I’m only just starting to feel any iota of comfortable in my new surrounds. On the way to this point I have swung violently between feeling like I have found my true work home – a house of awesome brain stimulation – to feeling so alien that a visit from the F.B.I.’s department for extraterrestrials wouldn’t surprise me. Because, as I’ve said before, over here for me, almost every single thing is new. From the way people behave in the work place, to the way they express themselves, to how they order a salad, it’s all new information I need to negotiate, process and interpret. Information overload is an understatement. My brain has been bursting, my dreams have been teeming, and from time to time I have felt the hurried approach of a major freak-out. However, so far, I have successfully managed to keep the freak-out at bay. How you ask? By using my yogi-powers of course. In the same way that I credit my Bikram yoga experience for giving me the skills and determination to get to New York City in the first place, I am indebted to yoga for enabling me to keep my head. I have simply approached every challenge with the same mindset you use to survive (and even enjoy) a hot yoga session: one thing at a time. No big picture wigging out, just an in-the-moment, how-long-can-this-really-last mentality. By focusing on the one thing I’ve been dealing with at the time, and not thinking about any future or larger thing I don’t need to, this entire monstrous undertaking has been rendered entirely manageable. Even uncomfortable experiences, when they’re looked at in isolation, don’t seem so big and bad. And awesome ones, when you’re really present, can be celebrated all the more. Not to say I haven’t had some serious moments of “what the effing frick have I got myself into??!”. Only, by some miracle I’ve managed to recognize what I’ve got control over, what I can change and what I can’t, drop the stuff I can’t do a thing about and move on. It’s been wicked. And let it not be forgotten, that while living the dream might be challenging as all hell, it’s also equal parts unbelievably fun, exciting and cool. So if you’ve been thinking of diving into the dream arena, go right ahead. It’s an experience I would thoroughly recommend. 

Time to get excited.

Here I am, yet again, at the airport, waiting to board another plane to the USA. But this time the adventure is really beginning. Yes, there will be big hurdles to leap over, big challenges to meet head-on and big things to prove, but at this point I can actually get excited. The job is waiting, the visa is approved, there is a bed to sleep in and friends to see when I arrive. I am heading to the Big Apple. Let's get this show on the road.

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.