New York, New York

If I Can Make It Here...

I have this awesome new boss from Liverpool, England. Finally. My department has been running without steady management for the last six months. Anyway. She's great. We just got out of a meeting that was 75% financial advertising copywriting feedback review, and 25% I-used-to-have-a-successful-food-and-restaurant-blog, living-the-dream chat. And I realized something. I'm failing my wide-eyed 22-year-old self.

I moved to New York City because I wanted to be a writer. I wanted to be in the center of it all, always toting around my camera and notebook, and documenting every food truck smell, every car honk and siren wail, every exotic cocktail and every new dish. And I did do that. I kept a journal and my Instagram and Flickr are filled with touristy snapshots of the city. But somewhere along the way I got caught up in that "Every one in New York is a writer and a photographer and a blogger" notion. I shied away from being part of that cliche, mostly because I was afraid of the eye rolling I might receive anytime I try to introduce myself as just another Brooklyn writer. 

Long story short, I'm here to tell you that I've kicked all that to the curb and have just decided to embrace this "New York City writer/photographer/blogger" persona. I have no idea what is about to follow. Maybe new restaurants and bars we try, parks and sporting events we attend, and those New York moments I've always longed for and am finally living.