Good afternoon, Monday. It was a lovely weekend in the BK spent celebrating a family birthday- we had a wonderful time of food, drink, and flea marketing, and even though I had a yucky cold, I soldiered through for the higher purpose of having fun. Wins every time for me, though it explains why I have no voice today.
So as you know, I'm a hired gun or freelancer. I love freelancing. It's a great way to not get stuck in a rut and constantly challenge yourself to jump headfirst into the deep end, with little time to figure out how to keep from drowning. I say that because as a freelancer, you're expected to quickly start a project and the best ones ask very little questions because nobody has time to answer them. (That's why they're calling a freelancer, silly.)
But sometimes in the down moments of no work and after the afterglow of pretending to live the rich life of Cobble Hill housewife where one goes to barre classes at 11 am instead of 5:45 am and where one can shop for fresh kale when nobody else is in Union Market, that clunk happens. The clunk that is a feeling of "what the f am I going to do next"? , better known as, "I gotta get my butt back to work".
I'm moving in the direction of a bigger endeavor that's entrepreneurial, as I always am. And though I'm grateful for my freelance life, I'm aware that my head is continually banging against that glass ceiling. There's only so many hits on the head you can take, so inevitably as you watch the same story on NY1 over and over, you question what to do, because being a rich Cobble Hill housewife is not really an option.
And as I sit here in my pajamas with a sore throat, nothing hits me over the head harder than the fact that for most of us, we know what we need to do. I know my instincts are really good- following them is another story.
So it came as a sort of affirmation as I paged through my new Bazaar this afternoon a story about yet another rich person leaving Manhattan and moving out to the country. Apparently this is some sort of posh trend- in this month's Vogue, former publishing honcho Jonathan Van Meter recalls his move from New York City to Woodstock, where he still manages to wear a Burberry suit, as noted in the above photo. Tree hugging has never been so stylish. He regales readers with tales from his new quaint life which includes a not pretentious look at country life, where everyone has fabulous dinner parties surrounded by trees and artisanal food is available, even when Dean and Deluca is nowhere to be found. A revelation!
Then I had the chance to read the tale of Anne Marie Gardner, a former big time beauty editor, who left the big time to live in Hudson, and never looked back, except to be profiled in Bazaar in a floral Gucci dress and Vera Wang pink confection all under the guise of living a pastoral life. I do give her credit as she is now the brains behind "Modern Farmer", a magazine celebrating the farmer chic we have all come to covet since Brooklyn became a buzzword. PS don't you feed chickens in Carolina Herrera? No? Shocking.
And as I read these modern "Green Acres" success stories, I want to very much pull a Zsa Zsa and do the same thing. There she is above with her little dog- see how much we have in common? I love New York more than anything, but if I could find a way to have my own business and buy a house in a place like Hudson, I would. Time and time again, I would. Unfortunately, the two profiles I just shared with you will most likely kill any dream I have of doing so- because if those two are in places like Woodstock and Hudson, I'm going to have to go deeper into Schlebutky (is that a word?) to even stand a chance, and I guarantee you I won't bring my Vera Wang ball gown, because I don't have one. But I do like the bigger message, and the one that has me yearning deep in my gut to do something else, something that is challenging in a new way. I don't like feeling like the city that I love also has me enslaved, and I'm aware that eventually, all of those hits to the head against that aforementioned glass ceiling are gonna smart. Incidentally, the impact is made more severe by the fact that living in Brooklyn was the affordable and chill alternative to city life. One must go much, much further to even attempt some solace and more cost effective living, and if I am right in my instincts, there's going to be a mass migration out of the city into more suburban and pastoral living- guarantee that those places will be unbearably steep and pretentious too. Thanks, former editors for ruining my dreams. Thanks.
Regardless, I'm feeling a strong pull toward doing something like those lucky bastards above. It's hard not to fantasize about leaving everything behind or at least finding a way to make money that has the freedom to work from anywhere you want. For now, I'm paging through Bazaar, realizing that dream they profile may very well have to be scaled back for us mere mortals, but dreaming big has always been my specialty, it's the actual doing that stops me dead in my tracks. Sigh. Less dreaming, more doing.
And that's what's up this still dreaming/not doing anything kind of Monday in the BK. Yours, in chic country living and home offices with a view. Right this second, Green Acres is not the place for me. But you never know what's to come. XO