Dream vs Reality

The dust is beginning to settle and I can see that I'm not in Kansas anymore, Toto. Two weeks have gone by in the space of one deep breathe.

Along with the shock of arriving, that nasty voice of doubt crept in whispering "what if's". "What if you show work to 500 stores and NONE of them accept it?" "What if I go to the trade show and sell nothing?" "What if...." Well, sweetheart, obviously, the answers is: you'll figure it out.

I found my sublet to be extremely cute: tin ceilings, two fireplaces, an exposed brick wall, old sunken wood floors, tall windows... unfortunately it was filthy and the guy renting it left ALL of his personal belongings here. Luckily, after a few days of struggle, he actually moved out. Of course, he did not clean. The layers of sticky dust on every surface and strip of molding were appalling. The packed, crusty dirt in every corner was horrific. Mama came to the rescue and flew out for a visit. Together we scrubbed. Then we payed a visit to Target and came home with cute lamps and rugs and dishes. Before long we turned the sticky mess into a comfortable, adorable home.

Mom and I went into the city to visit a metal supplier and jewelry display store. We ended up wandering the Upper West Side, and going to the New York City ballet. We saw three short performances: a modern, colorful and energetic piece, a traditional Tchaikovsky, and finally a creative 1920's ballroom dance-ballet. Over the course of the week, we ate some of the most incredible pizza either one of us had ever had. We looked at architecture in Brooklyn Heights. We worked on preparing the trade show booth, and discovered some boutiques that would be excellent venues for selling my work. We walked a lot and explored the Subway. Saturday morning, leaving a cute apartment and a fridge full of food, mom headed to he airport and I set out (again with a giant rolling suitcase) to do my first flea market in Williamsburg (a trendy-hipster neighborhood in the North of Brooklyn).

Now it is Monday morning, following a full weekend: two days working a flea market and a very late night out to a bbq at the apartment of a study abroad friend. Taking a moment to reflect over a cup of Earl Gray, I remember last March. Just a few months ago, I visited the city, "fell in love" and imagined what it would be like to move here. Now the dream has been realized, and reality is scarier, more overwhelming, but so much better than the dream.

She's Arrived

She arrived on a muggy Tuesday morning, sticky with perspiration and ungracefully lugging 150 pounds in three suitcases, a camera case, and a purse. She arrived with an acne breakout to rival any high school sophomore, presumably brought on by the stress of moving. She arrived tired eye and grinning, unavoidably gushing to the Egyptian cab driver, "I'm moving to New York, I mean, I'm moving right now. I'm here!" (His response was incoherent, but kind and welcoming, no doubt.) She arrived at a tiny locksmith shop where she was to pick up the keys to her apartment. The interior was not actually spacious enough to accommodate three suitcases, a camera case, a purse, and a sweaty woman, but, determined to be city-savvy, she would not leave her belongings on the sidewalk to be stolen. So, setting off the door-bell no less than 15 times, she got it all in. Immediately, the man handed over the keys in a little brown sack, and the door bell bonged 15 more times as she struggled to turn the 56 lb. rolling suitcase around with one hand. One long city block to the apartment, she cursed her choice to wear jeans as she rolled, back-packed, and carried her 150 pounds to her new home. Two flights of stairs and one more gallon of perspiration later, AND!

She has arrived!