Rose Trees Never Grow

I've been getting ready in the past month or so for my post grad life, and one of the things that is required in that is job interviews. So far, I've had two, which I know is a low number. (I spoke to one of my girlfriends who graduated last year and she talked about 40 interviews before she got any offers) The interviews themselves I don't want to talk about, suffice to say either job (both entry level internships) would be an absolute dream come true, one in fashion and one in theater. But that's not what I'm talking about here.

Both interviews have been in New York City. I don't know exactly when I fell in love with the city, but I know when I'm away from it too long I get sad, restless and feel disconnected. Even in the deepest, darkest moments of my depression, the months that I have next to no memories of, the trips to the city are memorable. A day at The Met Museum's Clostiers and a Broadway perfomance of Pygmallion with the rest of my English department, taking my cousin's then fiance, now husband to see the tree at Rockefeller Center for the first time, (Tyler walked around exaggerating his Alabama accent the whole time, "Wowie, Meag! Look at all the PURRRTTTY la-iii-gg-hts!" it's a pretty tough memory to lose, regardless of mental health).

My only two "real" jobs have been in the city. An internship with the biggest department store ever. (You know the one, trust me.) I hated a lot of the job but loved my lunch break, wandering around midtown. My other job, working as a customer service rep for a website that sold shoes. (BEST JOB EVER! And nicest people ever. BUY SHOES FROM THEM!) It was a wonderful six months. I loved commuting, I loved the occasional Happy Hour in the Chelsea or midtown bars after work, our office was nicely nestled in between the two areas. I loved meeting my two best girlfriends after work during Fleet Week and flirting with sailors in Times Square. I loved the cute boy who worked at the Pret A Manger around the corner from my office and always winked at me as I bought my iced coffee and croissant in the morning. (I nicknamed him Taylor, as in "The Latte Boy.") I loved everything about it.

What's the point of this, do you ask? The point is I miss The City. Every morning that I wake up in my little single bed, in my college town apartment, and walk two blocks to campus to go to the gym, I wish, just for a minute that I was stepping not out of an old converted house into apartments onto a small city street, but off of the escalator at Penn Station, my I-Pod in my ears, Midtown waking up to go off to work and feel a real connection to who I am.

I've applied to jobs other places, both in Northern New Jersey, which will always be home, no matter what, and in other cities, God help me, but I know what I want. I want to be back in NYC. So how do I cope with missing it? I watch movies and TV shows about the city, (Arthur being my latest favorite) I've created an I-Pod playlist of all New York songs to make me miss the city less.

Like Frank said, "If I can make it there, I'll make it anywhere!" I've already made it there, and I'm just hoping to make my way back...