The good news: it’s almost the end of my third week as a New York City working woman, and the dust has settled just enough that I think I’ll finally be able to re-instate my title as blogging extraordinaire and happy go-lucky wino. The bad news: I’m apartment-less, yet again, which means I’ve been schlepping my bags from couch to couch all over the island of Manhattan. This may not be bad news for you, but trust me, attempting to carry multiple pieces of luggage on the New York City subway does not a happy wino make.
All this hobo-like activity makes me reminiscent of another autumn when I up and moved to a new city at the drop of a hat. Except that time, I was silly enough to lug my suitcases across the Atlantic and test out my luck in another country. Moving to Dublin, Ireland in the Fall of 2008 ended up being one of my best decisions yet, but in the moment, as I was attempting to carry a year’s worth of clothes in two enormous suitcases, I was seriously doubting my sanity. I thought the fact that everyone speaks English in Ireland would eliminate all the problems I faced moving abroad the first time around to Paris, but I learned very quickly how naive that notion really was.
My first wrong turn was made when I decided I HAD to spend a week in Paris before settling down in Ireland. Because I was on a limited budget, I bought the cheapest flight I could find on RyanAir from Paris to Dublin. The joke was on me when I found out about RyanAir’s microscopic weight limit, and I was forced to pay over $300 extra for my heavy bags.
My second mistake was counting on public transportation to get me from the airport to my new home south of the city. Though the bus system in Ireland is cheap and reliable, trying to get ALL of my things on and off the bus was absurdly hellish. Not to mention, my lack of advance research put me about a mile’s walk from the bus stop to my new apartment. Cue instant tears and waves upon waves of regret.
When all was said and done, I finally settled into my new Irish apartment, though with sore feet and a suffering bank account. I’m hoping, sooner rather than later, I can do the same in Manhattan.
Until then, my belongings have taken up a new home base on the shelves around my office. A girl needs options.