no relief

Usually I come back to NYC and sigh with relief. But that hasn’t been happening lately. When I returned from London last Friday night, the city looked run down. Folks were acting up on the subway, and everything just felt loud and dirty and chaotic. I went to Weeksville the next morning and there was more chaos on the train, but then I had a sweet young writer in my workshop on witnessing the Civil War and I thought to myself, “Give it time.” But the next day, I updated my CV and applied for two jobs—one in Scotland and one in DC. I know that if I leave Brooklyn now, I’ll probably never be able to come back; gentrification will continue and I’ll be priced out of the rental market for good. But I don’t think that holding on is good for me—best to choose a new destination rather than wait to be displaced. Everything was so EASY in the UK. For the first time, I experienced train delays and broken down lifts (the Tube is WAY underground, so a broken elevator’s a big deal—no stairs). But I made all my connections and kept dates with friends despite my phone not picking up Wifi while I was out and about. I was warmly received at the four schools where I presented and sold over twenty books. Didn’t open my umbrella once during my six-day stay, and got a lovely print of Sarah Forbes Bonetta at the National Portrait Gallery before heading back to NYC. I now know quite a few people in London and I’ve got friends in Cambridge, too. It was interesting to talk with the Americans about their adjustment to British culture. One US grad student at Cambridge gave me a hug during the Q&A and her British peer later said, “That’s the most un-British thing ever—it made me blush!” Some friends talked about feeling isolated and homesick precisely because of that British reserve, and I would feel nervous giving up my network here in the US (though I maintain much of it via social media). But I wanted to prove I could survive as a full-time writer and I’ve done that for a few years now (just). It’s time to think long-term. I looked at my CV and I’ve been living an academic life, in a way; hopefully some school somewhere might give me credit for all the essays I’ve written and the talks I’ve given and the books I’ve published. I miss teaching. A lot. UK indie author Wendy Hue captured this image of me at Cambridge and I look as happy and relaxed as I felt. I taught a writing workshop for teens on my birthday but we had mostly adults in the room. And they wrote some amazing poetry and shared some touching memories. My hosts wanted to know when I’d be back so we could collaborate on another event. There is demand for what I do. I just have to find a way to make a living doing it…