The Internship -or- The Joy of Hearing What One Hopes

It began like any other morning on the upper east side: traffic down Lexington steady and innocuous, cotton sunlight fuzzying the facade of the building across the street as its combination of textured surfaces- brick, grout, glass- reflect the morning into our bedroom.

The feeling hovering about the apartment was altogether average. An average display of average things: average coffee, average shower, average two minute process of deciding what to wear.

The average AM ritual was consequently followed by further displays of the average quotidian activities. Average train ride to midtown, average walk, average cattle call trudge through the line for (yet another) coffee.

Culminating in an average kiss goodbye and similar-feeling exchange of "have a great day", the events to that point seemed to indicate nothing out of the ordinary. Neither better nor worse.

Then came the phone call, the new resume, the interviews, the successes, and the sudden novelty of sensing purpose, motion, a future.

Perhaps I'm over-dramatizing the whole situation. Be that as it may, I've yet to feel so elated at a professional accomplishment. In this case glimpsing a plausible light at the end of a dark tunnel filled with menus, wine bottles, cocktails, gluten allergies, high chairs, and special requests.

Sure, it's just an internship. But it's an industry I care about, a path I've longed to walk, a future I've been wanting to build.

No, I'm not counting my proverbial chickens before they're hatched.
I'm just happy. Happy and reveling.

Would that I could charge down this Open Road and see nothing but clear vistas of pathways bright and wide through landscapes lovely and thrilling.

All the while growing back a few of my very own curls.