Epic bike ride, magic day.

What? Two blog posts in one day? Yesssssss. Because I couldn't go on a bike ride like I just did, and not record it. As a tiny celebration of the achievement of one of my small stepping-stone goals, I decided to treat myself to a bike ride in Central Park. Managing to score myself a "today only, extra special price just for you" from the obliging bike man, on a truly awful dunga of a bike (it was a Jeep bike! A Jeep? My lovely sleek and sporty Specialized at home in Sydney would have squirmed in its storage unit if it had seen what I had stooped to riding.), I set off on what turned out to be an epic full circle of probably my favourite leafy park in the world. And it was SO beautiful. I still haven't found words to really properly convey the soft, layered green leafiness and sense of tranquility that Central Park possesses, but however you want to describe it, it's something pretty magical. Whether it was the utter prettiness of the Bethesda Fountain framed by a sunbathed lake with rowboats, happy couples and bobbing turtles, or the wide curving avenues cut amongst majestic trees, or the softball games, freewheeling cyclists, healthy joggers, or lounging hipsters in the Sheep's Meadow, every sight I saw was at once beautiful, exciting, calming, and the stuff of which deep happiness is made. New York I think I'm in love with you, all over again.

And they're cool guys too.

I suppose I should have seen this coming. I just went for lunch with The Dude (no, not the White Russian drinking, dirty dressing-gowned dude from the Big Lebowski) from The Agency I want to work at. He brought a couple of pals along too. And all of them were really cool, dude. What's more they were cool in the actual way - not wankers, properly smart, genuinely funny, fucking good at what they do. Naturally it made me want to work there even more. Ah what delicious torture! Because I think the lunch went well. The dude gave the green light for me to move on to the next stage, to be entered into the process that is having my book reviewed and interviewing with the next link in a long chain of powers that be, and he told me to come back and speak to their Head of Copy. Exciting yes? Yes! But excruciating too. I am one small step closer to doing the work I really, truly want to do, in the city that I love, but there are waysides aplenty yet into which I may fall. Well what can you do? Enjoy the moment, feel giddy all afternoon, pray to the heavens, and maybe go find a pool to splash in, because the weather today is sunny and fabulous. Oh yeah, and be happy. Lunching with three cool guys isn't the worst thing a gal could do.

Life is pretty amazing.

It's easy to forget, while hacking your way through the job search jungle, that you're leading quite an amazing life. As I have fallen into step with the basic ways of being a New Yorker, and gotten used to the unrelenting whir of a brain and body seeking paid employment, I have started to take certain factors for granted. Like the fact that every day when I step out my front door, I am stepping out into New York City, metropolis extravaganzus. And that when I want a nice calm space to reflect on things, I can put one foot in front of the other and find myself in Central Park, listening to the muted melody that is a game of softball - the soft thwack of a ball hitting a mitt, the high ting of a ball off a bat, and the lyrical patter of a friendly jibe fluttering from one New-York-accented team mate to another. But today I noticed these things again and remembered to recognise their coolness. The process of lifting oneself from one relatively smooth-running and established life and replanting on the other side of the world, is not always an easy one. In fact nothing about it is easy. But everything about it is invigorating. With every recognisable trapping of life made new and bewildering - from flavours, to transport, to language, to toothpaste, rubbish disposal, light switches and even flushing the loo - suddenly every assumed thought or fact or action turns from concrete to jelly; from something rock solid to something entirely more malleable. And while it's not always comfortable, it's fantastic for your brain. It kicks cylinders into action that could quite happily idle before. It revs up your curiosity and your agility - you start learning things anew. You start finding things out about yourself that you maybe only suspected before. And you encounter some pretty fricking cool, outstanding, special and amazing things. I'm making awesome new friends, frequenting numerous cool hangouts, finding myself miraculously in settings mainly meant for the rich and famous, encountering incredible art and inspired creativity, walking the same streets as total cool-arse legends from eras gone by. Oh, and I got two more requests to interview at good companies, and great job contacts continue to present themselves. It's been a good week, and life is pretty amazing.

P.S.

Birds have stopped pooing on me. And I've started finding pennies.

Early bird.

I have exciting news. This morning I got up early! Doesn't sound that exciting? Oh, but it is. When you travel, you expect a bit of body-clock weirdness - feeling hungry at crazy times, finding yourself undeniably awake at 4am etc. But after about four weeks in a place, you'd also expect your sleep/eat cycle to normalise. Mine hasn't - at least not until today. During my time in the states, I've found 11pm-12am is when I start to perk up, and I tend to stay impossibly chirpy until around 3am. Which is fine. I've always had a bit of a night owlish tendency, and you can get a lot done in those uninterrupted little hours. But early morning bedtimes don't make for early morning get-ups. No matter how hard I've tried, dragging my head off the pillow before 10am has been nigh on impossible. But today I did it. Today I got up at 7am and exercised for an hour. I've made myself an awesome breakfast, and done some writing, and it still hasn't hit 10am. Waahoo! Now I know 7am isn't the rising time of a true early bird. I have yet to work up to 5am exercise starts (which will most likely be necessary once I land a job). But it's a beginning, and another step towards getting that worm (the worm, in this case, not actually being a worm, but a job and some Jimmy Choo perfume, and some Isabel Marant sneaker boots, and maybe an apartment with at least one window that doesn't look out on a brick wall. Did I need to explain that? Probably not.).

Do what makes you happy.

Last night I went to a party in Williamsburg, Brooklyn, at the apartment of a cool girl I know called Joy. It was a smallish crowd of cool, smart, hilarious and (as usual over here) very welcoming people. I didn't drink, because I've been doing way too much of that over here. Never having to get up for work in the morning isn't the best thing for your drink-o-meter, and a sky's the limit approach to drinking isn't the best for my general state of mind. Anyway, for part of the evening we played a game involving clapping and throwing lewd words around the room in some kind of only very slightly mind challenging fashion. Sounds stupid? It kind of was - and incredibly fuckin funny. Funny to the point that we were all doubled over with ab-working laughter just about all the time. In a very laid back way, it was a totally awesome night. And this morning I woke up feeling happy. Which was a welcome change from hung over or brain fogged or anxious about the general situation I have placed myself in by packing in my job and moving to the other side of the world. It got me thinking about which things actually make me happy, and which things definitely do not. And I realised, not for the first time, that really simple things are what do the trick. Having fun, relaxed times with friendly, interesting people. Exercising outdoors. Talking to my Dad, sister, brothers, family in general. Cooking nice, healthy food. Being productive. Having a job (who knew?). Loving and being loved. Encountering all the cool stuff going on in the world with a clear, appreciative head. And I also realised, definitely not for the first time, that drinking alcohol doesn't make me happy at all. I know not all people are affected by alcohol the way I am. It puts my brain in a bad place. It robs me of my confidence. It makes me very aware of my aloneness as a human being. Some people can drink a lot and just have a headache and be a bit off point the next day. But even that, right now, is something I don't want to be. Off point is not going to help me get my dream job in the USA. Neither is a lack of confidence. So I've decided to do what makes me happy, which is not drink, eat well, exercise plenty, socialise cleanly, and focus all my energy on getting the job I want at my number one agency of choice. Because if I achieve that, deliriously happy I will most certainly be.

A note on bird poo.

One of my girlfriends over here, Cambria, has been experiencing an interesting phenomenon lately. Both searching for our dream jobs in the big city, together we have been helping each other stay confident in our missions, keep our eyes on the prize, keep being productive etc. It's kind of a bond or a pact we've formed. And since we've formed it, Cambria has been finding pennies. It started out as one a day, just on the street or whatever, and has since moved up to two a day. It's kind of awesome - like a money trail leading towards the pot of gold. Interestingly enough, I've had a recurring theme too. Only mine is bird poo. It's only happened twice, but twice within a short space of time. Birds keep shitting on me. Wonderful. Now we all know the story about birds pooing on you being lucky. Personally, I've always thought that story was... how can I put this... total crap, just designed to make you feel slightly better about an otherwise completely appalling bummer of an experience. At least I did think that, until cool things started happening. The first time it happened, I was feeling particularly despondent about my job prospects, and the poo made me feel even worse (understandably). But then the day after, I found out I'd got The Passionistas job. The second time it happened (on the same day I found out about the Passionistas gig) I was wondering if I'd done the wrong thing by sending another email to one of the coolest dudes in advertising right now, and  the poo was a real humdinger - right in my hair - yuck! Then the next thing you know I've got a lunch date with the guy. So is the bird poo my lucky penny? I fucking hope not! While I am grateful for any lucky amazingness the bird poo may have bestowed on me, what I'm really hoping is it was just a (disgusting) coincidence. Because as much as I welcome a nice long run of good luck, a run of bird poo I most definitely do not.