The last time I was really, truly in New York was in fall of 2005 when I was doing the book tour for Naked Ambition. Last year I was here for a flash-in-the-pan stay en route to Finland, but that doesn't count. I remember how bitter I was toward the end of that last trip in '05. The crust on my rose-colored glasses was thick, and I was having a hard time seeing the bright side of anything. This trip has been a lot different.
Saturday was a bit of a blur, mostly because when I landed at JFK I had to use my jetlagged wits to help me take the subway to Sandra's place, where she was waiting with soft lighting, Thai food and a screening of Brain Candy. I probably would've put out had the combination of the three not put me to sleep at 10. The next day I checked in with some work stuff, and then decided to go for a walk in Central Park. I don't know if it was the music I was listening to (Hard Candy, natch) or my mood after such a good sleep, but something about the city was different to me. The last time I was here I looked at it as being hectic and frenetic, fraught with stress and mayhem... all the things I wanted to avoid in my life. But cutting through the park to walk 6th ave into Times Square, I was surprised to find an impromptu street fair set up that blocked off most of 6th to anything but foot traffic.
I was starting to see everything in a different light. I was starting to understand the way everyone walks with and around each other, drives with and around each other... how it's more of a flow than a struggle, and everyone respects everyone else's pace (for the most part.) It felt more peaceful here than in times past.
It started to make me wonder about the five and ten-year plan I had put into place when I was 15, where I'd aimed to be in Toronto by 20 and New York by 25. I'd never been to New York at that point, but all I knew was it was where books and magazines were, and if there were books and magazines there, I wanted to be there too. So when I finally moved to Toronto I made a solo pilgrimage out to NYC to buy a pair of shoes. (If you must know, they were like the ones Gwen Stefani wore in the video for "Sunday Morning," and the only store that had them was Fleuvog... and they wouldn't send them to Toronto. Ergo, business trip.) Before I left everyone was telling me what a crime-infested cesspool it was... which made me want to go even more. And then I got there and fell in love.
And then my love for another man took me West. I've never regretted my decision to move to San Francisco with him at 23, two years before I was supposed to head South and find a tiny one-bedroom in Manhattan that I would undoubtedly share with two other roommates. But for the first time since I made that decision, I found myself wondering what my life would be like now had I have stayed with that plan. Would I have married and divorced? Would I have the career I have? But more importantly, would I have found myself, and continue to find myself? I'm not entirely sure, and I don't really know that I want to know the answer, to be honest. I can't say that it's necessary to open that door so much as it is to just muse about it.
I did have a rather surprising moment with my agent this morning over breakfast, though. We dined at a restaurant that I ate at back in the '05 trip, but under entirely different circumstances. I was there with a past love. There's a picture of me from that day, sitting there in a too-tight white Juicy hoodie, looking out the window at the cars racing by outside. I remember seeing Penn Jillette with his wife and their daughter, Moxie Crimefighter, walking down the street. I stared out there for a good long while, and said ex took a picture of me. And the picture says exactly what was on my mind at the time: I'm not happy, and I'm not in the right place. But I don't know how to change that.
Anyway. This morning I was musing with the agent about how, when I'd first started working with her, I insisted that getting a $600k advance for my porn memoirs was a reasonable goal.
"You know, growing up I always thought of being a writer as being this glamorous career, where you pen a book a year and get huge advances, go out on tour and stay in five-star hotels, sign development deals... and for the most part the truth is you do your own PR, you hustle your own book tours, and you couch surf," I said, and she nodded. "But you know, ever since I was little this is all I've ever wanted to do. And now I'm doing it. It's not about the money anymore, it's about getting to write what I want to write. Yeah, I want to make a living, but more than anything, I want to write."
I almost didn't believe the words were coming from my mouth until I said them, but it's true. I've struggled a lot with the monetary versus artistic side of what I do, and these days the artistic is winning out. And I think it should. There's something to be said about following your passion above all else. Usually the universe figures out a way to take care of and support you while you follow what it is you want to do. And certainly there have been times that have been tough, but I've never lacked. There's always been someone or something there to help me make ends meet.
I walked back uptown listening to the acoustic version of "Days Go By" by Dirty Vegas and felt an incredible sense of peace. Somehow, I know it's all going to work out better than I'd dreamed. Some way, it's all going to fall into place. I just had to come back to New York, the place that made me desire writing as a career, to remind myself of that.
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