I sat in on an editing session for a newspaper in New York City. This was after spending three months applying for editorial internships with magazines, start-ups, publishing houses, and no name companies. I’d convinced my family and friends to make room for me on their couches, so that I could afford the expense of the concrete jungle. I bought a metro pass, professional attire, and a copy of The Devil Wears Prada. I was on my way to “living the dream” as my friends like to put it, except that I never entered back into that bustling building.
Instead, I sat on a comfy, worn couch in the office hallway staring at a piece of printer paper taped to the wall. The white sheet read in dark black ink “if you need to cry step outside”. I wasn’t sure if a writer had displayed the saying as New York humor or a testament to how the Big Apple can chew you up and spit you out, but I knew I wasn’t close to tears. I wasn’t close to laughter either. I’d spent the last few hours in a cramped space with seven other people and felt as dull as the eggshell white walls.
I couldn’t remember why I wanted to start the climb to corporate success. For the important title? The thick paycheck? The sleek apartment? The fancy vacations? As I continued to sink further into the couch cushion the more I feared I wasn’t going to end up playing the part of Anne Hathaway, but Nicholas Cage in the beginning scenes of The Family Man. I was crushed. I felt deceived. I thought writing and the city and a notable company was my key to fulfillment. Wasn’t stability success? Turns out for me that a 9-5 work day even as high up as the 22nd floor isn’t quite enough to make my blood pump. And I couldn’t see why I should settle for anything less.
I ditched all my preconceived notions of success and of what people “normally” do. I threw out the thoughts of internships, portfolios, and consistent work experience. I thought about my youth. How many places I haven’t seen yet, how important having six figures in my bank account really is right now, how my back can still sleep on uncomfortable surfaces without revolting the next day. I thought about whether I wanted to be reporting on other people’s stories or writing my own.
Feeling the itchy rayon under my finger tips and hearing chairs slide away from desks made me think of computers, endless meetings, and confined four walls. I couldn’t help but think how rich my life has been over the past three years. How navigating the Paris transportation system, integrating into an Israeli family while staying in Tel Aviv, watching the sun set over sand dunes in Peru, and leaving my sweater with a woman in Cuba had changed my life. Changed my perception of what being wealthy is. Taught me that the offices will wait. They will still be there when I’m 25 or 28 or 32. Made me feel a lot less guilty for standing up and leaving the cubicles behind in search for something that provides me with a little more room to breathe.
