Have you ever had a dream…?

Have you ever had a dream so big that it both terrifies you and excites you to the point that you think it could grant you absolute happiness? That’s how I felt feel felt feel about film. But when I saw NYU my hopes and dreams changed because my comfort zone shot to the ground. Excitement fills the city but so does dirty people, rodents the size of felines, and the constant scent of melting garbage and urine. I wanted to love the city. In fact, I wanted that I never want to leave this place! feeling.

Unfortunately, I got that I would be ok with leaving this place right now feeling. And I hate that, because going to NYU seemed liked the only way to make my dream possible. USC seems like it, too. But most people say it’s in an unsafe part of L.A., and their standards to get in are huge and terrifying. At this point, I feel totally unsure of what to do. I start applying in a few weeks, and while I’m still thinking about NYU as a choice, if I don’t feel comfortable now, it’s unlikely that I ever will.

Dreams excite you and terrify you at the same time. They are wonderful. But they are also supposed to get the little people in your mind working so that you have ideas about life. And now that I have my ideas, I know that I don’t need to stick to one thing you achieve full happiness. If I don’t work in the film industry someday, it doesn’t mean that there will be an empty part of me always yearning to create movies. I will live—no, I will prosper, and no matter what happens I will be happy, because I create my own happiness. If you have a dream, by all means, go after it. But if the destination looks a little less like the picture in your mind, don’t be turned off by it. Keep going, because the image on the other side might be more than you ever dreamed of.

Now, I’m going to go try to take my own advice. 

Planes, Trains, and Automobiles....And Boats

My usual mode of transportation involves grabbing my keys and hopping in my Mom Car. Not to be confused with “my mom’s car”; it’s a Mom Car by many standards. It’s a six seater Pacifica with a hatchback. She’s navy blue, and I even named her Pam. For over sixty dollars every time I fill her up, she takes me where I need to be in peace and quiet. Except the quiet part, and my idea of peaceful might be slightly different than the typical definition. I roll my windows down and crank the stereo, but since I listen to Cities 97, I feel more at peace than anywhere else in the world.

But as soon as I stepped foot in NYC everything changed. The plane was exciting on the way there because I get that feeling of anticipation whenever I’m going to a new place. As seen on TV, we jumped in a yellow taxi and were on our way to the city of tall buildings, flashy lights, and unforgettable people.  You know how in the movies they’re always in major traffic so they have to hop out of the taxi and weave through cars to get to their destination? Yeah, it was nothing like that. Talk about afraid for your life. Every time we got in one of those death traps I thought, It’s been real. Thanks, God. I’ve had a good life. And now I’m about to die in a germ ridden yellow vehicle with a driver that has a name I cannot pronounce. See ya soon. The subway was another story. But you’ll have to tune into another post for those adventures.

Our first dining experience took place in none other than a quaint restaurant called Toast. And let me tell you about their toast. My BLT had not one, not two, but three slices of bread to accompany the bacon, lettuce, and tomato. Nothing was lonely—including my stomach. The sandwich scraped the roof my mouth as I tried to take a bite. I even thought of taking some of it out to transform it into an ordinary sandwich. But you should reread that last sentence if you have to evaluate whether or not you think I actually took the road last fattened by.

In the next few posts, I will clue you in on everything five people can experience in four days of New York City. At times you might be scared, at times you’ll be amazed, and at times you’ll wonder if I’m even telling the truth. But if there’s one thing you didn’t already know about me, I don’t lie.

For starters, we saw both a naked cowboy and naked cowgirl—or rather, cowwoman. Old woman. The cowboy wore tight white underwear, and the old lady had just enough to cover what she was supposed to. But one of my favorite parts was when we saw a lady of the night and my ten-year-old step-sister turns to her cousin and says, “Oh, look! She must be one of the dancers from the musical walking home.” Her sweet innocence is adorable. 

I Am Me in N.Y.C.

So you’ve heard the rumors? I wish I could say they were false, but that would be lying. And I’m not a liar. In fact, I’m so truthful it’s obnoxious sometimes. But I don’t see it as rude; it’s just honest. But that’s beside the point. The rumors are true: I am about to be corrupted. Or changed for the better. It really could go either way.

I have been dreaming about the Great City since my mom’s first ultrasound. That little dark spot on the fuzzy screen could already hear the buzzing taxis and see the bright lights. All my life I wondered what it would really be like to stand in Time Square and engulf the city around me. But tomorrow, everything I have been dreaming about all my life will either meet my expectations or leave me sourly disappointed. Given all the hype about it, I highly doubt that it won’t fit the images that I’ve built up in my head. This will also be a good time to see if I could ever truly see myself staying there for a longer period of time.

For a few years, I have had my heart set on NYU. I know how hard it would be to get in, but why not try? These are my dreams we’re talking about, people. Ambition. It sounds like some sexy fragrance, doesn’t it? If it were a perfume, I’d be doused in buckets full of it, because ambition is one thing I have a surplus of. This year I learned to go for my dreams, because if I don’t, who’s going to? A year ago, I wouldn’t have even admitted that I wanted to be a writer. I never want to seem cocky in my dreams, because that isn’t how I feel at all. I struggle every day with my dreams. But now, I’m not afraid to admit that I want to create words and images and movies that inspire people and make them want to go for their dreams. Maybe my thoughts are idealistic, but I’m a lot happier person being idealistic than being afraid to be myself.

It seems I keep turning posts into public journals about how I am not afraid to follow my dreams. That just shows how much I mean it. I am not afraid to be me. 

(New York City in the morning! I couldn't be more excited.)

I am One of Them

People don’t usually understand when I utter the unspeakable words. They cringe with a shocked look on their face, almost saying “You can do that?” And it hurts.  Who wants to be the freak who says, “I want to be a writer”? It’s like a disease. Watch out, it might be contagious.

It doesn’t flow off the tongue with the same finesse as “I want to be a doctor” or “I want to be an international peace leader and end all possible destruction that faces the earth in the years to come.” The image of a professional writer is often of the “starving artist” barely surviving on the streets of some large city. They sit cooped up in a room the size of a bathroom with walls that have chipped paint, tapping away on a typewriter.

But in reality, that’s not what most writers aspire toward. Not every writer dreams of producing “J.K. Rowling famous” novels. Some people think that purposefully selecting words to string together in sentences sounds like a good time. And I am one of them.