September 20, 2011 § 1 Comment
My New York trip was pretty rough. For the last week and a half I was working toward TV gold in alternative programming. I returned pretty beat up with a wounded spirit and an anger that couldn’t be pacified. Exhausted and dehydrated I showed up to work Monday just hours after I landed in LA hoping for at the very least a pat on the back. All I needed was an acknowledgment that they had thrown my team to the wolves. But no, no one was about to admit that. We got bagels instead. Which was more of like a slap in the face because no bagel made in Los Angeles could ever measure up to the bakery beauties we were consuming in Brooklyn. They didn’t even make a toaster available to us. What a joke. I think I just got New Yorked.
While I was in the city I was able to carve out a couple of nights to visit two old friends who have managed to wrangle their lives in the concrete jungle. These ladies are exceptional modern women trudging it out in one of the toughest cities in the world. A high school friend, modern scholar turned entrepreneur was my first visit in the now trendy, hipster part of Brooklyn, Williamsburg.
Most women our age from our hometown are either engaged or married, and some of them on their 2nd and 3rd children. There is nothing wrong with this, but if Sex and The City has taught us anything it’s that a woman can rot in a metropolis if she becomes accustomed to a life of drive. We discussed the limits you have to put on yourself in order to achieve happiness in that very special trifecta of job, home, and man. Putting yourself with the right man to support the dream job to yield the dream home in the middle of a city harboring old money, new money, cheap money, undeserved money, inherited money, in a world that is still run by men, this shit ain’t easy. At the end of the night we were just a couple of girls without husbands, no kids, eatin’ pickles.
Across town the following night I met a college friend in the east Village. We ate at a Ukrainian diner and mulled over a similar sentiment of the previous evening. Facebook tends to taint our vision of what we “should” be doing and at which milestone we should be at on the path of our lives. You have to put blinders on to everyone else and concentrate on upholding your integrity as a modern independent woman on a personal quest to achieve your goals on your time line. Me with a husband and a bun in the oven? Forget about it. I just recently learned how to accept flowers from Mister Red, lets not rush things. So there I was again: two girls without husbands, no kids, eatin’ meatballs.
I think the best thing to remember when any city beats you down, when the credit you deserve is buried somewhere beneath sub-par bagels, when you’re not in the place you had hoped you’d be, you could always call an old friend and eat some pickles. And if that friend is tied up, call the one you eat meatballs with.