SUCCESS IS A DANGLING CARROT...OPPORTUNITIES ABOUND

In New York City, when you're out of work...you always have a back up job- like dog-walking. In a place like this, there is an opportunity to prosper...or at least, pay your rent. All so you have time to write the great American novel/play/script or pursue your dreams. Theoretically, at least.

Miles and I are off to South America for a week so I won't be posting. And come to think of it- that's another reason to love New York. International Airports abound!

MORNINGS IN CENTRAL PARK

This morning, I did not oversleep and was immediately drawn out of bed by the quiet of an early Saturday morning (helped by the fact I live in the rear of my building). I love taking walks in the Park-especially during morning hours when the City dogs are off leash, enjoying their only hours of legal freedom. The people, too, seem happier, quieter, calmer in the mornings among the green grass and trees.   I know I am. I go over now less than I used to, which is four times a week as opposed to seven. Kenny, my dog (who died last year) made sure of that. It was of benefit to both of us- and now that he's gone, I am less motivated to go daily. I need to get back in the habit again-now that my days are numbered.  It's only five blocks away and it's the only time during the day that's not interrupted by my ever-buzzing Blackberry, construction vehicles, honking horns, screeching subway cars...you get the picture. I enter at 96th Street, make my way around the east meadow, head over by the tennis courts, up onto the bridal path and south to the baseball fields, past the Delacourt (Shakespeare) Theater, and looking over a pond full of turtles and a small, grey castle (Belvedere) above it. By the time I exit, I've passed under at least a few lovely bridges.

When I asked people I know from Charlotte about the parks there- they all came back with a similar answer. In a nutshell, "People don't really use the parks there like they do here. They have their backyards." Oh. What a concept.

Before I lived here, I always had yard to hang out in. I had almost forgotten what that was like...although I'm not convinced it was ever quite as cool as Central Park.

DAY BY DAY BY DAY

Today, my boyfriend (we'll call him Miles) and I woke up late. I was supposed to go for a 6am walk with my neighbor and her dog and since he usually gets up to go around 5:30a- I'd have no trouble making this deadline.  I was lazily shocked when the clock read 7:01am. I was not so concerned. When I announced the time, Miles yawned. "Oh my god," he said drowsily. "Yeah," I acknowledged, turning over and pulling the sheets over my head.  I could hear the rain pounding on the top of the air conditioner in the living room/kitchen/den. Then it hit me. "Oh my god! Your car!" It was like I lit fire to the bed. He bolted up and dressed in yesterday's clothes and ran out the door without coming back for his usual kiss goodbye. "You know those ticket nazis," he said. Indeed I did and Miles was in a No Standing 7a-10a. No Standing would surely bring more revenue to the City than a simple No Parking. Even though Bloomberg supposedly put the "five minute grace period" into effect for parkers running a few minutes late, it's clear the rule is unofficial. These ticket givers (once referred to as " brownies" because they wore brown uniforms) look more like cops now (no guns, but blue uniforms and badges)and they have no flippin' mercy.
Miles moved fast. By 7:05am he called me from the street.
 "Thank god. I'm the only car left on the street, but somehow, I was spared." He got lucky. Reaaaaaaal lucky.
By the time I got out the door (after two moments of silence and forty minutes watching and listening as the victim's families named names- my god, they hadn't even gotten to the B's yet. So many lives lost), it was a little after 9:30am - just in time to witness another New York City parking phenom. People sitting in their cars (doing all kinds of things-reading the paper, talking on the phone, doing their nails, flossing) waiting for the "alternate side of the street parking" time to run out. On my street, the north side is No Parking Mon&Thu 9-10:30 while the south side is No Parking Tues&Fri 9-10:30. Since I live a block from where the street cleaning begins in the morning, the sweeper usually comes through at 9:05. No matter. At 9:06, people will park again and wait. And wait. And wait. Even though the street is clean, they must wait in their cars until 10:30am rolls around lest a ticket nazi comes by (and they always do) and give a ticket to the unattended car- just for the hell of it.

I walked past the line of people in their cars with a purpose. The morning was cool and wet and the breeze felt good. With great hope, I powered uphill and down five blocks to what I can only describe as one of the most hostile environments in the tri-state area: my neighborhood post office.

For 15 years I've been going to this place and each time my hope for peace, harmony and good service is proven a joke. It seems every day is like the week before Christmas there. The lines are always (always) long. Very long. And although there are ten windows set teasingly before us, only two of them (if you're lucky, three) are occupied with agents. Six times out of ten, as if on cue, when I walk through the door and see the line jammed back to the the post office boxes, one of the postal workers puts a sign in her window reading "Next Window Please." All I can do is laugh and kick myself for believing again that it would be different this time. I am a fool, I'll admit. But what are we if we don't have hope?

While the spiffy upper east siders protest and swear, arms in the air and shaking their heads in disgust, the postal worker, enjoying her power to torment the well-heeled upper-crusters, simply smiles and says with a smile..."On break."

Today, there were only ten people in front of me. Two postal workers were behind the counters, taking their time and walking away from their posts ( just to stir things up a little, I am convinced of this). But still, a new record was set. I was in and out in 20 minutes. Maybe, just maybe there is hope yet. I can't give up now, can I?

Me, Move? For Good?

Pictured above: This is where I live on the Upper East Side. Doesn't drum up those romantic New York City images of living, heh? Not quite the picture of elegance you'd expect of the famed Upper East Side, huh? You may ask, how could I leave this palace? This 500 square feet of luxury? The answer seems obvious, doesn't it? Easy, right? Not so.  The answer is actually very complex. I hope to answer this and many other questions about my love/hate relationship with this fabulous, disgusting, wondrous, amazing, filthy and foul city that I've called home for all of my adult life. I plan to write daily- as my days here come to a bittersweet end. By doing so, I hope to come to terms with going away. Somehow, though, I believe I will never really leave.

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We're leaving New York City. And it seems to be for real this time. A house may be purchased in another state within 45 days. And we'll be gone. But I will not give up my apartment here. No. Not yet. I just can't imagine this is really for good.

A little background:
When my boyfriend and I decided we needed a change, there were a few factors we considered. I had been toying with the idea of changing careers for a long time. But when you work very steadily as a freelancer as a location scout in the movie business, it's hard to justify leaving a job with such freedom . Even though I'd felt for a long time I was headed towards a dead end (not to mention, a financial ceiling), the job and the movie business plays tricks on the mind. It makes you feel like you're moving, yet not always moving forward. Because everyday has me searching for different locations, it can feel like I am changing, growing. And to a certain extent, I am. Every day is indeed different. I get to travel all over the place for work. Even scouting in NYC is a daily adventure. But I know, especially now that I'm pregnant (perhaps the biggest factor in our new considerations), that I can't keep up the scouting game forever. Nor do I want to. Although I really like what I do most of the time, I don't have a passion for it. And in the last few years, it's become more like a job than something I really look forward to. That spark has been gone for a while now.
On the other hand, my boyfriend truly loves his profession. As a genius when it comes to excavating and building things like houses and commerical and residential buildings, not to mention the man can fix anything- he feels he can take his work anywhere. And I agree.
Both of us have been in New York for over 15 years and he, for one is ready to go. He's ready to go and not look back. Me? I'm not so sure.

Is it love? I know I love him, but what about New York? Why do I have second thoughts every single day? Is it fear? Fear of change?

 "This place is a *#@t hole! Get me out of here! I can't stand it anymore!" This has been a common and repeated sentiment throughout my tenure here. At least three times a year I will lose my mind a little and vow to leave and never, ever return to such an uncivilized place! But what could make me hate on my City so much? The last time I had an outburst like this was late June 2009. What happened?
1) I had a peeping tom on my fire escape
2) I witnessed a man standing (or shall I say, leaning) against a neighboring building with his pants down to his ankles- apparently using the sidewalk as a toilet.
3) A small family of pinky sized mice somehow broke through our anti- mouse security system and for a week while the traps did their ugly business, I was disgusted and afraid to return to the place I lived.

Immediately after the above-listed triple whammy came upon me in the course of four days, a list of all things negative about New York started taking shape in my head. The rats. The rudeness. The traffic. The filth.  The neighbor who watched, laughing, as a crack head broke into a car instead of stopping it. The corrupt MTA. The goddamn construction of the 2nd Avenue subway ripping up the street and sidewalks outside my door!

It was too much. The mice in my apartment had put me over the edge.

"I live in a *#@thole!  For the most civilized place on earth, why are we living like (and with!) animals?" I screamed as my boyfriend nodded in calm agreement. Within a month of this outburst, we decided to move. Out. Not to another apartment. Not to another neighborhood. Not to another borough. No. We decided, after three months of looking for a house in the Nyack area, to move to Charlotte, NC. A place we had never been to before.