To fill you in on the last six months:
- I rediscovered sunshine.
- I went to Disney for dinner, like, weekly.
- I stopped by New York for the election.
- I stopped by San Francisco for brunch.
- I stopped by Boston because it’s Boston.
- The replacement refs found a permanent place on my Oh-No-Nos list.
- I swooned harder at Aaron Rodgers than I have ever swooned at him before.
- I took Kelsey to the beach on my birthday, aka the hottest day on record in the history of all Sarasota January days. All of them!
- This happened at the Sitka Boys and Girls Club.
- I missed Sitka.
- I still miss Sitka.
- I wondered why I left Sitka.
- I realized that life looks bleakest when making and updating a LinkedIn profile.
- I kept tabs on everyone who has a professional writing career despite a subpar grasp of grammar, and I secretly plotted their downfall.
- Seriously though, plural words do not need apostrophes, Washington Post.
- I started this TV blog for the writing samples, and then I realized that I was actually having fun.
- I decided that I want to be a TV writer. I want to write TV shows. For a LIVING.
So that’s my new thing! I am an unemployed aspiring TV writer now. I am one of thousands. Find me at a coffee shop near you! And then hopefully maybe someday find my name at the end of the credits of your favorite show. I’ll be the name that nobody pays any attention to, but if you press the pause button at exactly the right minute, you’ll see it and you’ll know. And you’ll call me to ask if I can hook you up with Matt Damon and I will say NO NOT TODAY and then I’ll call Matty and we’ll laugh.
And that’s why I can’t go back to Sitka. That’s why I can’t go back to Boston. That’s why I’m in a total quandary over here. Because I know what I want to do. That should be freeing, right? I KNOW what I want to do, and I’m one of those weirdo 24 year olds who actually really want to work, as long as the work is good and purposeful and/or gets me closer to the many famous people whose friendship I WILL earn (I’m coming for ya, Poehler).
The problem is that my whole ‘aspiring TV writer’ thing will most definitely take me to LA, and soon. I don’t actually mind that, but, like, I’m 24. Aren’t I supposed to be living wider and wilder and surrounding myself with the people I love most and saving big career plans for another day? I’ve got friends in New York, including one beautiful wonderful soul who happens to be in the market for a roommate. A ready-made New York roommate doesn’t come around every day. I want her to teach me how to make Thai food. I want to get brunch in Brooklyn. I want to spend time with friends in the city and learn the subway. I want to stage casual run-ins with Victor Garber. I want to go to concerts in the summertime and Central Park in the fall and I want someday to say that I did these things and that I lived in New York for a year, and I can do that right now. There are so many writing jobs in New York. This should make everything so easy.
But so should knowing what I want to do with my life.
The thing is, when I know what kind of job I want to work toward, everything else feels like a waste of time. Not that I’d be in a writers’ room right away; I’d be lucky just to get an assistant job. And not that I’d be lucky enough to get an assistant job in Hollywood right away—let’s be real, I’d almost definitely be waitressing. And who knows—maybe I’d find a great job in the New York entertainment industry and make a bunch of connections. There are a lot of maybes in my life right now. But all I know is that everything I’ve read tells me you have to go to LA, and I want the rest of my life to start as soon as possible; how can I wait? But I have friends in New York, and I’m only 24; how can I not wait? There’s only one way to fix this.
I HAVE DECIDED NOT TO DECIDE YET.
A big year-long lease gives me panic attacks, so I’ve found another way to jump. Chrissy and I are subletting a place in Brooklyn for a month. It’s a glorified cat-sitting gig. No, it’s The Most Glorified Cat-Sitting Gig You Will Ever Encounter. This place has two balconies, laundry, unlimited wifi, a private elevator, and a rooftop view of the entire New York City skyline. And JVC thought it ruined me for life.
Before you get too terribly jealous of me, please remember that I’ve been unemployed since August, living in a hometown that everyone else has the good sense to vacate until age 75. If you want to know just how exciting my life has been, know this: I’ve memorized the schedule of TNT’s afternoon marathons, and I got confused a few weeks ago when they switched it up a bit.
So yeah, a rooftop view of the city skyline? I’ll take it. Somewhere in this month-long experiment, I’ll figure out what’s next: more Brooklyn, or straight to LA? Ugh, life is hard. Look at me with my super-privileged decisions to make. They’re both wonderful options. Then again, they’re both also terrifying. I have to find a home in a big, dirty, overwhelming city with friends but no career goals or a big, dirty, overwhelming city with career goals but no friends. Writing industry, what is your problem?
The idea of me in either New York or LA is absurd, because not only am I the kind of wide-eyed Disney kid who’d live in small-town Alaska for a year, but I’ve never been able to pull off anything resembling sophistication. Sophistication is really hard when your hair screams TAME ME and your face screams YES, GIVE ME YOUR SEVEN-AND-UNDER CHILDREN’S DISCOUNT. I don’t do things efficiently. I was in line for airport security this weekend in front of this really posh-looking girl with sleek blond hair and a classy all-black wardrobe and I almost dropped my suitcase on her. My future promises to be really hilarious. Especially for you.
In summary, please just remember that if I pack up and move to LA after this instead of staying in Brooklyn, it’s not because I failed at New York. It’s just because I’ve decided to try not to fail somewhere even scarier.