The Long Commute

I realized fairly quickly that staying in New Jersey for a month may not have been the best idea I've ever had, but on the other hand, I never really claimed to know what I was doing when I moved out here anyway, so I can't exactly blame myself. Plus you live, make a mistake here and there, and then learn from it. And I've learned a lot this month so far... a great deal of that being about the public transportation system in New York.

I'm not saying that staying in New Jersey was a mistake by any means -- the little studio I've resided in for the month has been perfect for me. It's just mainly been an inconvenience. I knew the commute into NYC would be lengthy based on my internet and Google Maps research, but the first time I actually did I was like, OK, so this might be kind of a long month...

I should note that the first time I actually went into the city, I decided, after much deliberation, to drive my car, admittedly because I was too intimidated by the course my New York Subway app plotted out for me. That definitely became a "learn from your mistakes" situation, as I passed through multiple toll booths paying first $2.50, $7.50 and finally $14.00. That's not to mention having to find a parking spot at two different locations, and getting my car stuck in both of those spots (this was the night after a huge snow storm).

Needless to say, the next time I ventured into the city, I left my car parked right where it was and tackled the NJ & NYC subway systems. It's about a five minute walk from where I've been staying to the nearest New Jersey Transit stop, so from there I hop a train that goes to Newark Penn Station, which takes about 20 minutes. From there, I pick up a PATH train, which is the subway that runs from New Jersey to several stops in Manhattan. I'm on the PATH for a good 40-45 minutes, and I usually ride it into the World Trade Center, a location where a commuter can pick up just about any NYC subway line within a few blocks' radius. I also have the option to ride the PATH to New York Penn Station, which is the 34th St. stop and a more central location, depending on where my final destination is on that particular day.

Surprisingly, I caught on to all of this fairly quickly, and didn't have to rely on my app as much as I was expecting. Major success! For someone who has never lived in a big city that depends on public transportation, I felt like somewhat of a badass, especially when people would ask me questions about what trains go where and I could answer them like I actually live here or something. That's not to say I haven't had days when I've just wanted to jump in my car and drive somewhere; not having to wait outside in sub-freezing temps for a train to show up, not putting up with crowds and people's germs, etc. But hey, it's all about making adjustments, and heaven knows there are some major ones to be had here!

Now after I make it to my final subway stop, another thing happens: I walk. A lot. Again, something else to get used to for someone who walked very little in her previous life, basically from parking lots to work, stores, restaurants, and her apartment. Now let me tell you, getting used to the whole traveling-on-foot-thing would be so much easier if the temperature outside wasn't so skin-numbingly cold. I've developed a whole new hatred for winter in just three short weeks, and it's a feeling that will undoubtedly carry over into next year.

Between the bitter, high-speed winds and frostbite threatening to set in on any exposed piece of skin, there is one major hazard in particular that I'd like to address for a moment: ice. This whole entire month, sidewalks everywhere have been covered by thick sheets of ice, and there's just too much square footage in this huge city to really control the situation.

So the first time I slipped and fell on said ice was a Saturday night around 2 a.m. I had met some new friends at a bar that evening, and when I stepped out of the door to start my long trek back, my phone decided to die with 17% of its battery remaining. It's been doing that lately, which is great fun when you step out of a building in New York and have no idea where you actually are. So I started walking, trying to use what little sense of direction I developed so far, and I mean I walked for a really long time, cursing my iPhone every step of the way.

You might be wondering why I didn't just hop in a taxi and have it take me to the World Trade Center where I could pick up my PATH train and be on my way home. Well, the thought had crossed my mind, but I was feeling particularly stubborn and refused to take the easy way out. I've been in the mood to conquer challenges lately, and this just happened to be one I wasn't ready to give up on quite yet.

So I was paused briefly at a street corner to wait for a taxi to drive by, and when I took my next step, my boot slipped on a sheet of ice and I went down into a huge puddle of dirty slush and black city street water. I said "black" there because when I got up and dusted myself off a bit, that was the color of my hand. At least 2 hours from home at that point, I kept telling myself not to freak out because I would make it home. I would be warm again. And I would be able to shed the jeans that were then completely soaked with freezing New York City liquid street dirt. Still too stubborn to get in a taxi though, so I continued on.

My second run-in with icy sidewalks was the other night when I was walking around in Brooklyn. There was really no avoiding the ice on this sidewalk; every square inch was covered, and no matter where my next step was going to be, it could easily have been a bad one. And was it ever. What I thought was ice was actually very thin, so my whole foot, up to my ankle, went into a gigantic puddle. Before I had time to react, so did my other foot, and not paying attention to where I was going next, just desperate to get out of the puddle, I stepped on some solid ice and went down like a baby flamingo trying to walk for the first time -- arms and legs a-flailing. Again, I was about 2 hours from home with soaking wet feet and jeans, already hardening with frost from the cold night air.

So I've had some mishaps this month, to say the least. There are certainly some major inconveniences to living in this city... some I've known about, some I'm learning about, and some that I just can't wait to discover. But I've also survived so far; every single time I've left my little apartment, I've made it back in one piece eventually... sometimes beaten up by the elements a little more than others, but each morning I wake up, take into consideration the lessons I learned in the days before, and try to do it all over again.

Looking Back for a Moment

Several years ago in 2010, I started a blog, just to try it out. There wasn't really any theme to it, just more of a random collection of various thoughts I had, whether serious reflections about life or online recordings of lighthearted conversations I'd tend to have with myself. I didn't even think that people -- friends or even occasional cyber passers-by -- might be reading it, but rather that the words I'd type just sort-of went out into the abyss of the World Wide Web and disappeared somewhere. 

I still have all of those old posts saved, and every once in a while I'll read a few to remember what I was thinking and going through back then. Based on titles alone, I'll either remember exactly what a certain post is about or have absolutely no recollection whatsoever. It just so happens that the other day, I started reading one, and each word was as new to me as rereading a book you haven't read in at least ten years. It was so pertinent to what's going on in my life right now that I simply had to share it.


Posted Tuesday, November 9, 2010

"The Cost of Happiness"

I overheard an interesting conversation in a coffee shop a few days ago. A young (and seemingly immature) man, in his early twenties at the oldest, was having a discussion with a female friend about moving to New York City. I heard her say that she knows how happy it would make him to live there, but that she thinks he would really struggle with the extreme difference in cost of living. He didn't care to think of that, of course, because living in the big city was all he ever wanted.

Sure, money can't buy you love. Or happiness, for that matter. But sometimes it seems like money can get us the things we want, which will in turn make us happy.

Right now in my life, I think I'm doing pretty well for myself. I have a job that I enjoy immensely. I have a great apartment with a nice view. I can stop at Starbucks or Roebeks whenever and not feel guilty about spending $5 for a smoothie or coffee. I can go out to dinner and not worry about whether or not I'll be able to pay my rent for the month. But, I live in an area where the cost of living is fairly low, so I'm able to have nice things for myself.

Where would I live if I could pick any city without worrying about the cost of living? San Francisco. What car would I love to be driving? A Corvette Z06. Would I be broke? Most likely.

See, I'm too rational to be thinking about moving somewhere I couldn't afford. I like having a little bit of extra money to not only provide breathing room in my budget, but also to spend on doing fun things. Of course I would be happy living in SF, but the stress of being able to pay for everything could definitely affect that happiness. There would be so many things to do and cultural things to see, but would I be able to spend money there like I do in Akron? Is it too much of a risk to assume I'd be able to live out West? I don't want to be in debt for the rest of my life if I don't have to be!

I'm not the most spontaneous person you'll ever meet, to say the least. I couldn't just pick up and move everything I have to New York (like our young gentleman mentioned above) without having some sort of plan. Without having a job lined up. Without having a budget drawn up. Does that make me too cautious, too boring? Would I be happier if I moved where I wanted to now, even though my funds would be extremely tight? 

I also tend to get comfortable in a place and usually feel anxiety over making big changes in my life. But, when I think of that, I think of a fortune from a cookie I saved and stuck to my refrigerator: You'll never discover new oceans unless you lose sight of the shore.

I get frustrated sometimes that money has so much control over how we are able to live our lives. I'm one of those people who thinks everyone deserves to be happy and live a comfortable life. I might assume by saying that it seems like everyone at some point wants something that is juuuust out of their reach, like buying that expensive car or living in an expensive city. For others, unfortunately, it could be having enough money to buy groceries or pay their electric bill.

It's difficult for me to come to a conclusion on this one. I work hard for what I have, but there is no doubt that the most direct cause of my happiness is everyone in my life who I love and who loves me. THAT you can't buy. For everything else, I can do what I want and what I can do. We're only here once, right?

I have a friend that always asks, "So are you going to move to California?" I usually reply, "Prooooobably. Someday. Maybe." And she'll always say, "Just do it." I guess sometimes we might as well throw rationality out the window and just do it. I was feeling particularly optimistic one day and said, "If I die tomorrow and have one penny left in my bank account, people will know I had fun the night before." Maybe if I hold back too much, I won't get very far. I'd imagine we all get reimbursed at the end anyway by being able to say, "Yep. That was a fun ride."

Should I go out on some kind of a limb here and say that the JMP from four years ago might be surprised by what the present-day JMP has done with her life?

I was reading through that post and a smile spread across my face as I thought, "Yes, yes I definitely wrote this. That was me. That's how I think." I can certainly recognize that at 26, I hadn't yet had some of the experiences that got me to where I am today. I didn't have much money saved up; I wasn't looking for a big change at that time in my life. But that is quite an evolution of self to have over the course of four years, and now perhaps the 30-year-old me (almost 31!) can pat myself on the back and say, Good job, you're breaking your own mold and turning into a very ambitious individual!

I still had that fortune on my refrigerator until recently when I packed it up in a box. There it currently awaits to be displayed in my next kitchen, I suppose. But I'd frequently see it, held up on the fridge by a pink and grey Andy Warhol magnet, as I was considering the possibility of moving to New York. 

While the shore may be safe, away from the uncertainty of the ocean, there's so much I want to discover and experience in my life that I knew a time had come for me to cut the ropes and set sail.

On Surviving Week 1

Here's the beginning of what I hope will become a long list of many missions accomplished: I survived my first week. 

On Tuesday, the enormity of this change really hit me, and not just like a ton of bricks, but like the force of a giant wave knocking me out and taking me under, leaving no chance to even gasp for that last breath of air. In my head I thought, Whelp, never mind, I don't want to do this. It's gonna be too hard... 

I wanted to get back in my car and drive the 400 miles home to safety, back to my family, my friends, to the people who know me. I've felt very anxious, knowing that just outside the door to my apartment are hundreds of thousands of people, none of them familiar, none of them even knowing my name. I've been experiencing a new kind of lonely, of complete anonymity in a foreign place... somewhere that's so dramatically different than any place I've ever known or called home. No one knows me, or why I'm here, or what I'm capable of, and as it turns out, that can be a really intimidating and overwhelming thought. 

I immediately fell into my first instincts of wanting to hide when I find myself in stressful situations, hoping everything on the outside that's scary will disappear and return itself back to what I'm used to, sooner rather than later. I've been longing for anything that feels even remotely close to a comfort zone for me, but no matter where I turn, everything is terrifying and unfamiliar. I've felt very uneasy, and unlike myself, not even comfortable in my own skin when I venture out and get lost among the masses. 

What on earth made you think you could do this? the voice in my head keeps repeating.

Then I remind myself to be patient, that adjusting to this new life is going to take time, and a lot of it. There are so many things in life that just take time -- time to heal, time to understand, time to learn or grow -- and I think it's one of the most frustrating things we ever have to go through... to know the feeling of, I know I'll feel better in time, but I want to feel better now. It's one of the greatest experiences with patience that we can ever have, and I've been trying to keep that thought at the forefront of my mind as I continue to tell myself that I'll feel better tomorrow, and even better on the next day, and maybe even pretty good the day after that. 

I knew I wouldn't adjust overnight. I knew it would be a long road ahead before I'd start feeling settled in a new environment surrounded by new people. So I just have to be patient and allow the pieces to fall into place whenever they might be ready to. What exactly did I expect to have figured out in one week anyway?

I didn't come all the way out here just to give up after only a few days. I'm better than that. Maybe when life gets hard and you find yourself struggling a bit, it's only a sign to make you realize that you're actually living it, not just hiding somewhere waiting impatiently for everything to get better. 

Goodbye, Goodyear

I woke up on the morning of what I had decided would be my last day of work at Goodyear and entered into a major state of denial. It was almost like running head-first into a brick wall that had appeared out of nowhere right in front of me... suddenly, my moment of change was upon me, and regardless of all the weeks that lead up to the next few days, I found myself feeling totally and completely unprepared for the time to actually be here. 

What am I doing?

Am I crazy?

I should probably just stay.

I had been dreading the day... dreading the goodbyes I'd have to say, the people I'd have to leave, the comfort of the environment that had become a second home to me. I had many moments of this is my last commute here, the last time I'll be walking through these doors, the last time I'll be rolling up my chair and sitting at my desk... And I started to feel a bitter pain in my heart. Because I hate saying goodbye.

Some of my favorite people in the company attended a lunch with me that day, and I was overwhelmed by the kind words everyone had to say about working with me. It was such a fulfilling feeling knowing I was appreciated and recognized for the work I've done over the years. I've had the opportunity to work with some really fantastic people, and to build relationships that I hope will carry over into the years ahead. 

I've also received nothing but support, well wishes, and encouragement from my friends and co-workers since the day I announced I would be leaving. Hearing things like "We believe in you," "Your talents will take you far," and "We're so proud of the person you've become" really helped to lift me up on that day of incredible uncertainty. 

When one of my best buddies, Ed, put his arms around me, he said, You're not leaving, you're just going. And he's so right... We never really leave our homes. Even though sometimes we may just be farther away, there's always some part of us that stays right where we've always been.

Ed

My girls, Tiona & Jen

Rob & Britney

Scott

Duane

Kris

My boys, Shawn, Justin & Dan

I worked with these three long before I started working full-time for Goodyear. When I moved back to Ohio from South Carolina in 2009 and started working for Dan's company, Mosher Media, I had no idea when I walked into that office on my first day that I was going to make some of the best "boy friends" I've ever had. I really love these gents dearly; they've helped me get to where I am today both personally and professionally, and I'll always be grateful to have them in my life.

Now Jessica and I have some sort of "special" relationship... maybe I put the "quotes" there because I can't really think of a good word to describe us, but I really love this girl to pieces. She's brightened each day she's been at the office (don't get me wrong, she's annoyed me so bad before I've wanted to smack her into next Sunday) and by "brightened" I mean provided comedic relief in the most awkward of ways. 

We both get each other on some strange level unattainable to other average humans on earth, and I'll even go so far as to say we have our own language, which partly involves just looking at each other and bursting into uncontrollable laughter for no reason. Not seeing this chick everyday has left a hole in my life for sure, so... good times, girl, good times. Till we meet again.

Later that afternoon, after I had gathered the rest of my belongings from my desk, I walked out of the department for the last time and into the lobby, taking another look around at the faces and places that had become so familiar to me day after day. I had my four favorite people standing there with me by the main entrance of the building, and after I said my final goodbyes, I took a deep breath and turned to face the doors... inside was the warmth of familiarity, and outside I could start to feel the cold sting of the unknown.

It took a lot of courage for me to walk out of those doors that day, to leave behind the comfort and safety of an environment I came to know and love. But everyone there helped prepare me in some way for this big step I was about to take, and every time I think about the people here that I love, I know I'll be reminded that I'm never alone in my journey.  

Hotel Pennsylvania

I drove about four-and-a-half hours on Saturday and stopped overnight near Hazelton, PA. Part of the reason I left later in the day was to have brunch with some of my best girlfriends in the morning, and to have extra time to finish packing and loading my car later in the day. Additionally, I thought it'd be a little easier on Harley if we split the trip up instead of driving the whole way all at once.

In the spirit of being generally spontaneous on this whole adventure, I didn't really pick out a hotel ahead of time; it was more or less a "stop when I'm tired" situation, as I saw it. So at a certain point in the evening, I started paying attention to hotels when passing exits, and decided to stop at a Motel 6 right off I-80, knowing they were pet-friendly places.

Well let me tell you, it ended up being the pet-friendliest place, and I am so glad we ended up staying here. In addition to the kind owner, the hotel was recently remodeled, really clean and most importantly, kitty-approved.

Harley checked things out pretty thoroughly once he was inside to make sure the room met his expectations... I like to think of it as him looking out for his mother...

One thing mom did forget about was closing the bathroom door when she went to bed, because someone got into the toilet paper and ended up puking all night. At home, I have to keep the TP in a spot where he can't reach it, and in my tired state that night, I didn't even think of it being so easily accessible to ornery kitties...

I felt bad when we were getting ready to leave the next morning because in his exploring, he tracked litter basically all over every possible surface... so I went down the hall to apologize to the housekeeper, and she said, "Oh please don't worry! I'd much rather clean up after animals than people!" And I laughed and said, "Well you're right about that!"

I took Harley down to say goodbye to her, and she loved up on him a bit, telling me some cat stories of her own. I was most appreciative that they were so welcoming to both me and my kitty. They told me they were going to start a "pet page" section of their hotel website, and to please send photos of Harley to include with their other furry guests.

It was really a great start to my whole trip... certainly one of those places I will remember as I continue along on my journey.

 

Cats in Cars

How much stuff exactly can you like, fit in a Mustang?

I don't really need to explain that people aren't buying Mustangs because of the spacious trunks and roomy back seats. I mean, the cool factor alone is enough to make up for the lack of overall cargo space, amiright? So when I decided to do this move, it was stressful for me to not only decide what I needed to take for the first month, but also to figure out what I could actually fit in my car.

Very luckily, when my parents and I started loading everything up, we were pleasantly surprised by how well things were fitting into my little black coupe, and I ended up not having to make any tough decisions about what to take and what to leave behind... Yes, all these shoes are completely necessary!

I'm quite pleased to provide the following list of what actually made the trip with me: 

1 27" iMac in its original box
5 pairs of shoes (my feet are big, my shoes are even bigger, the struggle is real)
1 trashbag full of sweatshirts
1 trashbag full of sweaters
1 giant IKEA bag full of clean laundry (my mom made sure I didn't leave with any dirty clothes)
About 20 shirts on hangers
1 Macbook Pro and bag
A duffle bag full of socks
1 small box of miscellaneous essentials (including my iron -- gotta stay pressed!)
7 pairs of jeans
1 small window fan
1 large tote bag of toiletries 
10 bottles of water
1 duffle bag to fly home with
1 scratching post
1 litter box
Bag of litter
Container of cat food
and...

THIS GUY.

My little sweet pea did so well on the trip... For the most part, he stayed curled up on his blanket in the passenger seat, looking over at me every few seconds to make sure I was still there. Sometimes I sang to him; sometimes he sang to me. After about three and a half hours, he got particularly vocal, and I was worried he had to use the litter box, so we stopped at a gas station and it turns out he was only starving, so he chowed down while mom filled the tank up. 

Harley wasn't just my co-pilot for the road trip; he's my tiny wingman for this whole adventure (whether he wanted to be or not). With him along for the ride, I don't feel like I'm doing anything alone, and no matter who might enter or leave my life while I'm out here, he'll always be the one who comes running when I open the door to our place, wherever that might end up being for us.