New York Is a Schizo

I have been living in New York for 10 years now. Maybe I keep saying this in wonder over and over again, but I just can't help myself. I am in disbelief that the years have passed me by so quickly.

When I was applying to colleges back in the 90s, I knew there was only one city I wanted to go to. New York City, baby! I had attended a nerdy high school newspaper conference at Columbia University, and I instantly fell in love with the loud traffic blaring by, thousands of swift stomps from commuters, the anonymity, the small world-ishness. I connected with it in a New York minute. There was no other place, as far as I was concerned.

Now a decade later, my mind feels like it's starting to come full circle. I had arrived in the city with a lot of baggage (literal and figurative). I had been determined to lose said baggage here and peel away the layers until I had discovered myself, my true self. As you may have guessed, the city has a mystical way of handing you some epiphanies right away, and others are tucked away until the right time.

The other week while chatting with a friend about our complicated, crazy-ass family stories, I had a self-epiphany that I never thought I would have and it led me to a book idea. A book idea!!! If you know me, I have been waiting for this moment for a while. Yes, I manage bands now, but the music industry side of me snuck up on me post-college. Before I started promoting shows, I started a blog so that I could write about what I cared about. So that I could write about whatever I felt like writing about. True freedom. Almost too much freedom, one could argue.

So yeah, I guess I have been waiting for that one moment of focus, and then all of a sudden the book idea popped up. So I have decided to start writing my story, my saga, and I actually feel like I have a meaningful (though personally terrifying) tale to tell about my life and my family.