It’s been almost a month since my last (and first) blog post. And nearly 6 weeks now since I landed in New York. Sorry, I meant to write, but I got busy. No, that’s a lie, I'm hardly busy. I tried to write, and then I started doubting myself and my writing. So let's start with what I'm doing here in the USA.
At the start of November last year, Miles and I packed up our lives in Melbourne and flew over to the other side of the world. Landing in Seattle, we hired a car and spent the next 9 weeks travelling down the West Coast and across the expansive South Western states, via big cities and tiny towns, national parks, strange attractions, countless crappy motels, gas stations and amazingly kitsch diners. 5,000 miles later we finally ended up in New Orleans before flying to New York.
My motivation for moving to New York was twofold:
Firstly, to move out of my comfort zone and to take on new challenges. Having never really lived outside of Melbourne (aside from a brief stint in London for a semester exchange), I wanted to see if I could make a life for myself in another city. New York, a city that I visited 3 years ago and fell in love with, seemed like the perfect place.
Second, as an emerging arts practitioner, I wanted to actively focus on my creative pursuits away from the distractions of my regular life at home. New York is, or at least has been for much of the past half century, the centre of the global art world, and seems to practically ooze creativity and ambition. Where better to pursue my dreams than the concrete jungle where dreams are made of? (to quote Alicia Keys/Jay Z).
I wanted to write that down because when everything here seems difficult and I wonder why on earth I left my comfortable home and moved to this cold, foreign place, I can remind myself of these two reasons, repeating them in my mind like a mantra, and try to believe that it will be worth it.