When I first started interning at Simon & Schuster, I was a bright-eyed girl roaming around in the city. My previous trips had been with family and friends; I never got a chance to be alone. I explored New York at night, sat in the Washington Square on the weekends – listening to pianists, drummers, and guitarists perform – and found the most interesting food trucks. But when I rode the subway, I looked around at the people on the N or the R in the morning and the afternoon, and I’d only see blank and tired faces.
I promised myself that I wouldn’t be that way, that I wouldn’t look away when someone smiled at me, that I wouldn’t ignore the homeless person babbling on the train, that I wouldn’t walk past musicians as they played the banjo/violin/drums. It’s been two years, and I’m working at a different place. I’ve already broken my promise. I don’t like that I am slowly feeling disillusioned.
Why am I feeling this way? It’s most likely my tendency to worry. I worry about my responsibilities as an intern and as a student and I worry about the future. I can’t help myself. To be happy, I have to stop thinking about everything all at once; I have to focus. Breathe. Be thankful for all I have – for my parents, for my family and friends. I have to remember why I am going into the city: to learn and to experience the publishing industry again. And I must remember to be happy. I’m alive.
On the train to Fairfield tonight, I decided to take out my laptop and continue working on a chapter that I’ve been procrastinating on. Without realizing it, I wrote two pages. I left the train station feeling like I’ve regained an essential thirst for life that I temporarily lost. I promise, now, that it only gets better from here.