Struggle in the capital of American culture: NYC
New York is the capital of American culture. That’s what I believe, and that’s what so many others who’ve moved to this city before me have believed. It’s a place where dreams come true and fun is had. It’s a place of unyielding opportunity around every street corner. It’s the city where the lives of the next great Americans are lived; where the next great American stories are written; and where the next great experiences take place.
I’m starting to wonder if that’s actually true or if it’s just what the movies and songs tell us. Jay-Z told us years ago something to the effect that if you make it here you can make it anywhere. I assumed he didn’t say that just because it sounded good on the track. I thought he said it because in many ways there’s no bigger mountain to climb than the skyscrapers of NYC.
He forgot to say how difficult it is to make that climb; probably a lot more people fail than succeed. The mountain in this city is tall and it fights back. The climb is fraught with sleepless nights of self-doubt, countless hours of meaningless labor, and many more failures than successes.
I came to NYC seven weeks ago. I was fresh out of my first job in college — by most accounts one of the most interesting gigs one could have out of college. I worked abroad in Geneva, Switzerland. I was paid well, and I had my own apartment. The company I worked for was in the commodities business. For a 22 year old beginning his career the exposure was remarkable. But I hated it so much that after eight months I quit. Two weeks later I came to NYC and in search of something else. I came because I dreamed that the opportunities in NYC would somehow find me — or better yet — I would somehow find them.
I want to be a journalist who dabbles in both the written and photographic media, and I want my projects to focus on global human rights issues. I came to NYC because where else does one go to meet journalists. It’s the industry’s mecca, and perhaps the best place to find the mentors you need to break into the industry. It is not, however, the easiest place to survive.
The commodity that an aspiring journalist needs most is time. Time to build a portfolio, time to get introductions, time to submit articles, time to learn what works, time to fail, time to fail again, time to fail yet again, time to keep pitching, and eventually time to succeed. Unfortunately, money often buys time. In the strictest sense money buys food and money buys shelter, and those two things need to be well taken care of before one can successfully swim in any creative field. If you don’t have much money, you don’t have much time to go down the journalist track full-time before being forced out.
Here I am seven weeks into my stay in New York and that’s what I’ve learned. NYC is one of the most expensive places to buy time in the world. I haven’t broken into journalism, but I haven’t given up. I’ve just accepted food and shelter are necessities that need to be taken care of in order to write and shoot. To do that I need money, and to get money I need a job. Thus, I’ve taken a job part time at a restaurant in order to buy some time. The restaurant industry shelters all kinds of creative hearts because when you’re in need of cash tips are much like a gift from the Greek gods. They’re also pretty easy and quick jobs to find. Check your pretensions; spend a few days walking around NYC, and you’re bound to find some restaurant work. The only question that remains is if it will pay enough to survive.
Working in a restaurant has also given me an interesting perspective. I graduated with a top-flight education, and I have work experience at prestigious institutions. I offer all the promise of exceptional young talent, and I tell a convincing story. I graduated with a degree in economics. I worked as an intern at an investment bank and my first job was the first step in a lucrative career in commodities trading. I would have thought it would be easy to get a full-time job to support myself and get experience in ones my industry. It’s just not the case. So far I’ve only found a part-time job bussing tables. It’s a humbling experience to learn that finding the right job building valuable skills is ones desired industry a difficult task. It’s a search often lined with many more failures than successes, so it is no wonder all kinds of self-doubt creeps up.
Self-doubt has been the enemy convincing me to pack up and leave NYC is the past seven weeks. Over that time period I’ve lived on couches in Brooklyn, Manhattan, and Queens. It’s not a stable lifestyle, and everyday that I spend another night living off a friend’s generosity feels like a failure. Every day I don’t line up a potential job interview feels like a failure. Going through this emotional roller coaster is the tough part of the climb. A string of little failures can kill motivation, but in those moments I remind myself of two things: 1. This struggle will one day make a good story for my novels, and 2. It only takes one success to make all those failures worthwhile.
