NSFW: The Chronicles of a (Free?) Girl, Chapter 5

I'm two days late writing this and with good reason!

"Ancient Egyptian school children painted themselves canoeing and now we have this art hanging in the Met!"

I got a job, like a full-time copywriting one that actually makes money. You're probably thinking, "Wait, does that mean this blog series is over?" Have no fear, my friend, this is only the beginning. However, knowing me, I could very well drop this blog series to start working on something else. Yesterday at Eden Med Spa in Tribeca, I had my fifth book idea; except this one ties together two of my other ideas into a four-part novel structured similarly to The Overstory. I won't reveal much, but I'm excited to think more and begin working on an outline.

The Physical Becomes the Cerebral

Any time I try to relax I can't. You know how people dabbling in meditation complain about being unable to reach a state of nothingness? Their desired outcome is a blank mind exempt from pain or stress. Well, unless you're a monk in Montserrat who's been practicing mindfulness for decades, unlocking this mindset is impossible for many of us. Meditation is a tool used to find balance and relieve stress, but it can't erase the fact that living is hard and we're all doing our best to find peace in a tumultuous world.

I say this because whenever I'm meant to relax, my mind goes crazy; ideas are fluid and flowing, a creek underneath Madison Square Park forgotten for centuries. During my 90-minute massage yesterday, a treat to myself for getting a job after 7 stressful months of uncertainty, everything made sense: my first novel would be autofic and embody a bird. I would finish it by age 28 (we'll see about that, but my locker number and keychain to unlock it were numbered 28).

This time unemployed has forced me to confront my interests. For so long I wanted to be someone I'm not, when in truth my interests lie in the American dream, feminism, and existential philosophy and their relationship with nature and freedom.

Paging Madame X

I went to the Met last Friday night to see the Sleeping Beauties fashion exhibit and find Madame X. Sleeping Beauties was a multi-sensory experience; I smelled walls infused with particles from 200-year-old dresses carrying haunted whispers of perfume and pheromones from society's most elegant women. One scent of rose transported me to a ballroom where powdered faces disappeared into circles of noblemen waltzing.

Yet, in a garden of golden dresses and sparrows mounted on crowns made of twigs, I longed for the sleek elegance of Madame X in the American Wing. My two friends and I only had 45 minutes to find her, and once we did, she was not there. "Oh yes," the security guard said, "she was last seen in London, but now I'm not sure where she's going." Nonetheless, my friend Zach prompted me to pose as Madame X before the empty wall to make our journey worthwhile.

A Mystifying Grandeur

Something about living in Gramercy has inspired me. Maybe it's the quiet elegance of the streets or the tree that sways outside my window. I've found myself chasing shadows as elusive as Madame X and the ghost of Oscar Wilde, figments of what has been and can be now.

I said this before in my post mentioning Virginia Woolf but I'll say it again: Virginia was right: to find creative fulfillment as a writer, one must have a full plate, a roof over their head, and enough money to live without struggling. Now that I once again have my basic needs met, I can continue along the path of self-actualization.