I’m not sure how it happens, that the days in New York blend together—this the greatest city of endless activity and prosperity. I lose track of whether it is Saturday or Wednesday or Monday only by the absence or appearance of Olivia. Even that is not always a good indicator, as she is usually at the performing arts school, in rehearsal, at dance class, singing karaoke with friends or maybe at a movie. I, on the other hand, spend endless hours searching for some sort of meaning in my days. I remember once upon a time that a recruiter or creative director would call me and literally offer me a job, entice me with higher pay from my current place of employment. Freelance projects would come to me, and I never had to look. I certainly took that for granted. Now all I do is look for work of any sort. I’m not whining. I’m not complaining. I am merely stating fact. I know that I am not alone in this endeavor, this quest to place myself again among the employed. After six months, I start to wonder when or if it will happen. Oh, yes, of course everyone says, “it will happen” “things will get better” “you are talented and you will get work”. And things will happen, they will get better, and I am talented. That said, I have to wonder how much longer, and about the basic shift in the hiring of workforce. Many people that I know who have lost their jobs have relied on unemployment. I did not have the luxury. I am simply at the end, unsure of what comes next.
I am a practitioner of yoga, yogic philosophy (seemingly in lieu of spiritualism) and meditation. I try to take the approach that if I put the word out to the universe, so to speak, if I let my intentions be knows, if I am open to the possibilities, that things will happen for me. I am open. I am sending out the word—and the resumes. I am ready for whatever shift might come my way. But. Nothing is happening. I’m watching and listening very carefully. I don’t expect the gods to send a lightning bolt. I assume it will be much more subtle. So I’ve started to go a little deeper. What is it that I actually want to do. What do I want to be remembered for. I know there is an answer in there. I believe it is to teach in some form. I think at some point it will be to teach yoga, but not yet. Because of current monetary expectations (i.e. kids and college), I know that it has to be something more lucrative.
I have been trying to convince myself that I should be a nurse. I actually think I would be a very good nurse. I am caring and compassionate, smart and mature. But I have spent far too long on the convincing and research part, and not feeling the true calling. I thought for many years that at some point I would get my MA in Art History, and teach at the college level like my ex-husband has done for years. So, I went down that path. Again, the convincing. During my research this little blip stood out: MFA Design. There was the lightning bolt. That’s me. That’s the degree I need, or some similar variation. So I found that Parsons has a MFA in Design and Technology. I may be too late to apply for Fall. The obvious concern is how to pay the tuition. Are there really loans for single moms in need? The prospect of college at age 46 is a little daunting, but could potentially be life changing. I’ll keep you posted.
I get so isolated in this little room in front of the window that now faces a brick wall, that I forget to be a person. I don’t take time for me. I’ve actually forgotten who “me” is. I know that I miss the days of yoga every day and going to dance class. If those are things that I miss, then it must mean that I must get back to them. A really cool site called Groupon sent an offer this weekend for a one-month membership to the 92nd Street Y for $20. Even spending $20 seems out of my meager budget these days, but Olivia and I are going to do this together. I think it is important.
We live close to the Hudson River now, just a couple of blocks over. There’s a riverwalk down the whole length of Manhattan. Much of it is being rehabbed, rebuilt and so much of it is beautiful new parks now. Little did we know that we would walk the whole thing. We weren’t in a hurry, it was sunny and cold, but it didn’t seem to matter. Two and a half hours later, we realized we were both tired and starving. Close to TriBeCa, I remembered a little place our family had eaten several years ago called Edwards. Pulling out the trusty iPhone for directions, we saw that we were just a few blocks away. We had a lovely little shared dinner, and a subway ride home.
I am a practitioner of yoga, yogic philosophy (seemingly in lieu of spiritualism) and meditation. I try to take the approach that if I put the word out to the universe, so to speak, if I let my intentions be knows, if I am open to the possibilities, that things will happen for me. I am open. I am sending out the word—and the resumes. I am ready for whatever shift might come my way. But. Nothing is happening. I’m watching and listening very carefully. I don’t expect the gods to send a lightning bolt. I assume it will be much more subtle. So I’ve started to go a little deeper. What is it that I actually want to do. What do I want to be remembered for. I know there is an answer in there. I believe it is to teach in some form. I think at some point it will be to teach yoga, but not yet. Because of current monetary expectations (i.e. kids and college), I know that it has to be something more lucrative.
I have been trying to convince myself that I should be a nurse. I actually think I would be a very good nurse. I am caring and compassionate, smart and mature. But I have spent far too long on the convincing and research part, and not feeling the true calling. I thought for many years that at some point I would get my MA in Art History, and teach at the college level like my ex-husband has done for years. So, I went down that path. Again, the convincing. During my research this little blip stood out: MFA Design. There was the lightning bolt. That’s me. That’s the degree I need, or some similar variation. So I found that Parsons has a MFA in Design and Technology. I may be too late to apply for Fall. The obvious concern is how to pay the tuition. Are there really loans for single moms in need? The prospect of college at age 46 is a little daunting, but could potentially be life changing. I’ll keep you posted.
I get so isolated in this little room in front of the window that now faces a brick wall, that I forget to be a person. I don’t take time for me. I’ve actually forgotten who “me” is. I know that I miss the days of yoga every day and going to dance class. If those are things that I miss, then it must mean that I must get back to them. A really cool site called Groupon sent an offer this weekend for a one-month membership to the 92nd Street Y for $20. Even spending $20 seems out of my meager budget these days, but Olivia and I are going to do this together. I think it is important.
We live close to the Hudson River now, just a couple of blocks over. There’s a riverwalk down the whole length of Manhattan. Much of it is being rehabbed, rebuilt and so much of it is beautiful new parks now. Little did we know that we would walk the whole thing. We weren’t in a hurry, it was sunny and cold, but it didn’t seem to matter. Two and a half hours later, we realized we were both tired and starving. Close to TriBeCa, I remembered a little place our family had eaten several years ago called Edwards. Pulling out the trusty iPhone for directions, we saw that we were just a few blocks away. We had a lovely little shared dinner, and a subway ride home.
A pier on our Hudson River walk.
Libby on the pier. Forever the cheerleader.
The river was full of ice!
Upper West Side at Hudson River.
Before this day blends in to the next, I have letters to write, resumes to send, a book cover to design—and maybe even a college application to fill out.
You make me smile... Keep Your head up and continue to follow your dreams.
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