Five months ago, my life as a child officially ended—I walked through the double doors of my liberal arts college and was handed my diploma.
Despite the prestige of the dignified commencement ceremony on the perfectly green grass surrounded by the limestone buildings of the Academic Quad, this procession was essentially a kick in the ass. With nowhere to go but forward, I moved to New York City to begin my new, exciting life as a young woman. Or rather, to wait for that life to begin.
The Waiting Game Level One: Sweating on the Upper West Side
Dropping into Level One, I found myself in a cluttered, unairconditioned room that I had subletted from one of Older Sister’s two Israeli roommates who had returned to the Promise Land for the summer. With little-to-no closet space, I kept my things in the next best place: on the floor. For the three muggy months of June, July and August, I sweat amongst my stuff, waiting for boys to call, my pot to be delivered, and dreaming of an apartment of my own.
Level One had an inevitable end, my sublet’s expiration when the Israeli returned over Labor Day Weekend. As grueling as the Waiting Game is, the notion of “GAME OVER” is even worse—Consolation prize: a one-way bus ticket back to my parents’ house where they can “keep an eye on” me. The Judgmentalsteins think I am a loser.
Determined to win, I accepted a temporary boost. A temp job at Simon & Schuster. Unsure of what came next, I advanced further into the Waiting Game.
The Waiting Game Level Two: Commuting from the Suburbs
Now sublet-less, my challenge in Level Two was to find a place to live. Again, I had to battle the crippling constraints of the powerful Dr. and Mrs. Judgmentalstein—“We think it would be best if you move back home. You can commute to the City by bus,” they would say. As if freedom existed on the Jersey Turnpike.
Empowered by their doubt, I powered up my game. I found refuge in another suburb, Westchester County, NY. I live in the half-finished basement of my uncle’s house. My aunt works in the City too. In the mornings, we commute together on the Metro North.
Now coasting in Level Two, every morning, I exit Grand Central Station and spin my iPod to something with a walking-beat. Then, I weave through the glamorous yet sophisticated business fashions of Fifth Avenue until I arrived Rockefeller Center, where I spin through the revolving doors of 1230 Avenue of the Americas, Simon & Schuster. Up the elevator I go, away from the City’s pulse. The doors open and I’ve reached Level Three.
The Waiting Game Level Three: The Colorless Cube
This recurring eight-hour battle is my biggest Waiting Game challenge yet.
My plan to push past this Level is to use the internet on the computer in front of me. Backed by the partial privacy of my cube, I continuously search for full-time positions in publishing and apply to any opportunity that includes EDITORIAL, CREATIVE, WRITER, or ART in the title.
Eventually, I’ll get the right job, I’ll find the right apartment, and I’ll meet the right boy. Until then, I will continue to wait, fighting any battle the Waiting Game throws in the my of winning my fabulous New York City life.