More than a year ago, I visited New York City with the intention of deciding whether I would move here That visit was full of events with friends, job interviews, examining the neighborhoods. Needless to say, it was stressful and anxiety-inducing. I was disappointed with the people, the attitude, the anonymity of the large buildings, and the cramped spaces.

Coming from San Francisco, I wanted a similar lifestyle. After all, so many New York City transplants were in San Francisco—quite often, seeking a relaxed lifestyle.

On this return, after more than 7 days in the city. Coupled with my ice cream interviewing and slow walks through neighborhoods, I loved it. And for some reason, the East Coast edge that was grating me last year was almost nearly absent. (Although as I walked down the street once, I got punched in the arm…)

Or is it because ice cream makes everyone happy? I would like to think so.

The idea of living in New York once appealed to me. But then faced with the tall concrete buildings in Manhattan, the souless apartments…I desired nothing else but to have my apartment in San Francisco. And most of all, a doorman.

Some state that doorman increases the building’s security. That I have always found false. I have walked into my sister’s Manhattan building at three different locations throughout the island undetected, smiling only innocently. What if I was an angry ex-girlfriend that wanted revenge? Nothing can stop me there. Social engineering is easier than expected. Most of all, there are areas in San Francisco including in front of my apartment where crime has been committed. I am not afraid. It’s a choice that I made.

Packages? Sure, that’s the most annoying thing about my duplex. I come back and the sticker is on my gate. Whoops, missed the package…again!

At one point, I thought…Green Point or Williamsburg. maybe.

This year, I will be spending my birthday abroad in Rome. Ever since I was young, I always had a self-entitled day. But this year, for my 31st, I’ll be in Florence with my number one fan. They say Italy will be enrapturing. But will it? I don’t know. I stopped being fascinated by Italian cuisine when I reached my teens (no more spaghetti and meatballs!). And wine? Unless it’s high quality grape juice… But the culture of Italy, that is what I seek to experience!

Previous years: 2012, forgotten year in 2011, 2010, 2009, 2008, a forgotten year of 2007, 2006, 2005, 2004, 2003, 2002

1. Safe unencumbered travels abroad (like not getting lost)
2. Serendipity while traveling (no more ending up in concrete jungles of nothing)
3. A better cheap AT&T data plan
4. So that it makes sense to upgrade my spotify account
5. Good casual walking shoes
6. Homemade ice cream. Like really homemade.
7. Candy!
8. Portable tripod

In her 3 and a half year old voice, she told her mother, “I want the round and round!”

Her mother said in a friendly stern voice, “Louise, you must be polite, because Jenn hasn’t finished eating. We can go find it after we are done.”

I laughed as Louise smiled broadly and continued to fidget in her chair.

Then her mother said to me directly, “I think that she means boba.”

In ten minutes, we strolled down the street as Louise ran ahead, jumping over manholes and related covers. Every few steps, her mother would say loudly, “Louise! Please wait!” Then she would add as we approach an intersection, “Car! Please come and hold my hand.”

When we go to Tapioca Express, Louise peered inside and instantly threw a tantrum. As her mother pulled her to the door, Louise dropped to the ground screaming. “I want round and round!!!”

Pointing a techy startup guy coming out with a large milk tea, her mother said, “Look! It’s bubble milk tea!”

“No!” Louise screamed.

I chuckled wondering what round and round meant. Eventually, we went back toward her mother’s car where halfway through the journey, Louise declared that she wanted round and round initially. Spotting a blue awning of a Mexican restaurant, Louise ran ahead and peered into the restaurant. Inside, a bubble gum machine stood where with a coin, a gumball would spin round and round sliding down a circling slide. Her mother gestured toward the bubble gum machine to the cashier almost apologetically, “We are here for this.”

Her mother opened her fashionable wallet and Louise jumped up to pull it down, sticking her hands in. I reached into my bag to find my wallet, but her mother found one first. Quietly, Louise took one quarter and put it into the machine. With both hands, she twisted the knob. A blue gumball dropped into the slide and it went round and round. Louise put her hand in the small metal door at the bottom waiting for the gumball. She grinned happily, holding the gumball in her hand.

I don’t know if she ever tried to eat it.

I read about this test in Outliers about testing for creativity and non-rigidness. When I was young, my parents were worried that I wasn’t developing fast enough. My social skills were lacking. My speech development skills proceeded at a snail pace. Catching a ball? Impossible. But when tested for my IQ, I was tested for someone a few years older than me.

To this day, I wonder how my IQ was tested if I could barely communicate. And whether my parents believed that I would be the person I am today when they brought their oldest daughter to a series of tests (including a MRI scan). If it wasn’t for my social anxiety, what could I have become? Did my circumstances inhibit me? And why did suddenly my ambition finally broke free when I edged into third decade?

A dear friend once said to me in college, “If you really applied yourself, you can do great things.”

But couldn’t anyone?

Brick: building structure, oven warmer, steps, weapon, a door opener, a car opener, mini table, when decorated a piece of artwork, doorstop

Blanket: clothing, towel, fire smother, comforter, poor man’s parachute, blindfold, rope, chair, rug, table, pillow, stuffed animal

I would go back to school and get a MFA.

(Although I know personally if a financial incentive is not present, my drive isn’t as strong.)

Every few months, i wander over to a graduate school program. In creative writing. In journalism. In film. Then I imagine how it would be like to be in school again. Especially now that I have the maturity to pursue a degree with thoughtfulness and rigor.

Yesterday as I cleaned out my room for an incoming sublet, I came across articles I had written for a home newspaper in 1995. My writing was clear and vivid, capturing an objective, interesting perspective. I remember how I applied for the classes in the school newspaper and yearbook, rejected from both. I always blamed it on my inability to communicate in person and I slunk away in disappointment, never trying again in college or after.

And when the earnest awoke again, I found myself surrounded by writers in their fifties and sixties. People who suddenly awoke to find that their dreams plundered by demands of children and careers. In a room today, I sat in a circle, free writing, and I wondered about the other attendees—did they just wake up now too?

Deep personal human stories…with a greater philosophical meaning that transcends the physical world in front of us.

I listen intently hoping for a moment that it will teach me something, especially about myself. I am curious about others because I want to understand myself.

Then there are stories like Oblivion that I hoped was more than just a story of a man, a lover, and misguided sense of being. Being who I am, I am always seeking for the greater meaning and I kept trying to find it.

Especially pens made for HER!

Featuring diamond engraved barrels!

I personally always prefer rubber all over.

They say, I want to travel…but…

“Yeah, but…” is pernicious. Because it makes it sound like we have the best of intentions when really we are just too scared to do what we should. It allows us to be cowards, while sounding noble.

So said another blogger.

To some extent, I pity the dreamers who never achieve their dreams, because they let everything else get in the way. It’s not just travel. It’s working out. It’s painting. It’s music. It’s everything else.

Every week, someone says, “I wish that I could do what you’re doing.”

Usually I smile, but I really want to say, “Why not?”

Is it the mortgage? The kids? The job? The vacation? I know that I once got into that spiral when I started thinking about the responsibilities.

So why is it that people complain about what they cannot have (or maybe they’re just humoring me)?

But most importantly, do they really want it?

I used to think that I would love:

I did that all, and I didn’t like it. It wasn’t my thing. Regrets? Maybe for the money that I lost. But to know that I didn’t like it is the most valuable reward.

More than the standard person, the trick to get to me…is just by listening to me. Really listening to me and showing that you really understood.

There are some who believe that it’s simply sitting there and letting their ears open, letting the words flow in. But to me, it’s asking clarification questions and prompting with curiosity or their own anecdotes.

The worst thing to do to me is not listen to me. Ignoring is one thing, but to return with criticism and misunderstanding is the worst thing to do.

Yet, today as I stood with a coworker who I did not want to build rapport with for professional reasons, I suddenly struggled. I can’t help but comment on the cuisine, the bright sun casting a feeling of 70 degree weather in the valley, the ways of suburbia. It’s just what I do. And just like any other typical person, he couldn’t help but also converse as well. And then, there it was understanding.

Today, I drove up the 280 and relished how its ease and freedom unlike the horrible 40 minutes I drove yesterday on El Camino Real hitting traffic lights every few minutes. Perhaps because the former felt habitual. It felt like it understood me.