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.

All In the Family

So my sister told me that our grandfather died over the weekend. Usually it would follow that there would be some sadness felt here, but I don't feel sad. I didn't even know the man. He had abandoned my grandmother long ago, and was still living in Korea at a monastery or something.

Here's my question: If you are blood-related to someone but you didn't really know them while they were alive, should you feel sad when they pass on? Connected? Sad for the disconnection?

Most of the stories in my family's life follow the typical dysfunctional family outlines. No one gets along. There are a lot of myths floating around about various members of the family, in particular mine, because my immediate family is the only one with a broken marriage... two broken marriages, in fact.

I know I have some family out there on the West Coast, too, that I don't really know well, but at least I've met them before. But I've often wondered the same question about them -- them being my birth mother and my "whole" sister, who happens to be a year younger than me. I'm almost positive I would be sad. I think I've always hoped that when I got older, I could reconnect with them in a meaningful way, without all the dysfunction. Perhaps that will still happen one day.

As far as the family I grew up with, I am definitely getting closer to my sister Cathy. As she's catapulted into her 20s, I find we have more and more in common. And it's a nice feeling when I can actually help her with different aspects of her life. I actually feel like a sister. Go figure!