I’m an hour and fifteen minutes Northwest of Midtown Manhattan, instead of thirty-five minutes from the east, yet, I find reason to travel more into the city now than ever before. Isolated as I am in the land of unemployment I search for culture, stimulating interaction, life beyond that of plants, dog’s barking, and cow’s mooing. There is only so much social media one can stand. I’ve long ago became bored by blurbs of status, photo’s, game stats, and let’s pull up songs from the past.
Though the posts on WordPress I’ve been entertained by the humorous, sometimes serious insights of society across our nation of which I often contribute, however less frequently as of late. I’ve become discouraged as I wait and see the continual false starts to the state of the economy, the tenth’s of a percentage point unemployment changes from week to week in either direction, the resumes typed and sent that go unacknowledged. I long to change my circumstance and wonder if increased knowledge will make the difference? It hasn’t thus far.
Write, write, write. Can I write myself out of this nightmare? How about if I write, crochet, and sow? Juggle my various hobbies/talents to market and annoy people with my solicitation for survival? As pathetic as that sounds will it prove to be anything more than further embarrassment as my modest place in the world crumbles?
Nonsense! Manhattan offers exposure. The opportunity to network. I convinced myself that it is the opportunity to be seen, to be heard, to be read, to learn and to expand my craft as a writer in one of the greatest cities on earth. It is the opportunity to grab the ear of a mentor, even when its cost might be my final investment to my craft. Hope is only an hour and fifteen minutes away. I wonder how long can hope sustain me?