Cara Perugia, Ti Manco

I found myself with a little reflection and creativity this morning on the train, and in light of my last post, I want to share it with you. I've been missing Italy a lot lately; hearing my coworkers speaking Italian over the phone with clients has made me especially nostalgic for my time in Perugia. Here is a little slice of my life from a city a love.

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Perugia, Italy--

Perugia sits on top of a hill, where it seems that a strong gust of wind could blow it off into the atmosphere. You might forget while you walk among its gray stone streets and structures, but Perugians soak the morning sun in before it touches the Umbrian countryside. There air revives you with every breath, and its mystery makes the city magical.

There was a distinct sound coming home to that place: the echoes of heeled boots clapping the stone walls, down roads that look like halls. Our street was quiet, except for the occasional piano playing from a couple who liked to waltz in their basement. We lived in an alley that most didn't even know existed--just wide enough for three girls to walk side-by-side--though our corner owned one of the best views in town.

Our alley’s cold darkness was desirable after a long night of dancing and downing vino. But on this one particular morning, rather than waking to the taunting sounds of a Samsung cell phone circa 1995 (like most days), I woke to cackles coming through the cracks of my window.

I was jolted to my feet. My roommates and I sluggishly rose out of our beds and battled our big wooden shutters, finally breaking down our barrier from the outside world. We crowded our window to see what waited among us, only to find a mottled line of children: a mosaic of small smiling faces, still too young to value sleep.

            Waves of laughter and sunlight instantly swept across our cold tile floors, and our giggles resounded upon the discovery: our apartment’s alleyway was not solely characterized by its chill and its secrecy; we shared our street with a school.

In that moment I was overwhelmed by simultaneous laughter and tears. From that moment, the air was lighter with the kind of exhilaration that only radiates from children; their spirits are the spirit of Perugia. I will always remember that afternoon as the day I officially fell in love with a city.

                                                                                                                                                                                              

No Room for Doodlers

I could spend an hour beautifying my writing--in more ways than one. I could fiddle with diction and syntax or I could play with writing visually... if you let me.

That's part of the fun in writing (for me, at least)--the relationship between your hands and the pen and paper. I went through all of high school and college handwriting all of my papers and writing assignments first... and I was an English major! For each assignment, I would write the draft by hand with a good, black ballpoint pen, then edit the draft with a different color pen (usually blue, maybe red if I was feeling particularly assertive that day), and once complete, then I would type. Imagine how many notebooks I've gone through in my lifetime! Even all of these blog posts were handwritten first. The computer has just never felt like a journal to me... I am just old fashioned in that way, I guess.

So as of late, being somewhat of a journalist in terms of deadlines and all, I have had to give up this precious pastime. It's the kind of cold-turkey withdrawal that is worse than giving up cigarettes, I think. But I actually have to say that I've found journalistic writing to be best when typed. It really helps me stay concise and factual--ideal for the assignment, which is something the notebook just cannot afford me.

So now the only writing left to write (by hand, that is) is creative and personal, which I realized is a good thing because it gives all that pent up emotion a canvas on which it can really go nuts. And my hand is just so happy to be reacquainted with the curves of the ballpoint--every slide, swirl and lick as it dances wildly about the page, that handwriting in my journal has become like yoga for my button-punching, keyboard-stricken fingertips.

I keep coming to one problem though: once I make it to the page and get my free-range flowing, I don't really have much to say. Due to lack of practice, the muscles need warming up (and believe me, that's the closest any muscles of mine have even come to warmth these days... unless you count the daily jogs, sprints, and speed-and-sidewalk weaves to and from the highly unreliable NJ Transit).

But then I thought maybe... oh, God... maybe, I've just run out of ideas. Those damn fluorescent lights and PC monitors have sucked the creativity right through my pupils and out of my brain like the final quarter-inch of strawberry milkshake at the bottom of the glass.

Maybe not; but whatever it is, my brain is not making many creative leaps these days.

Now it suddenly seems that the title of this blog can still fit just fine: "Flat Champagne: The post-college pursuit of creation preservation." Well, that kind of sounds like some Bible Belt, Jahovah's Witness slogan for voting pro-life. Maybe instead it'd be something like: "A girl's quest to make it in publishing and still maintain her creative skills."

Okay, these all SUCK. This is exactly what I am talking about.

But maybe I don't need a new byline because I am still looking for some form of fulfillment. Don't get me wrong, this job is incredible and I love how much writing I get to do, and to be published on top of it--I feel so truly accomplished and excited about my work and my future. But creative writing is a huge part of who I am and has been since I was a little kid. To just let that slip away would be losing a part of my identity. I cant let that happen; I must resuscitate my poetic flat line or Christina might not survive.

I have always believed that all things are best in balance. I need to balance my journalistic writing with my creative writing--like that physics saying: each and every action has an equal and opposite reaction (my Grandma would be proud that I even remember that haha). And while I must keep them segregated, I have found each one increasingly helpful in my execution of the other. Like a couple who has been together for many years, the two individuals must be able to grow on their own, while still growing together.

And, one of the great things about my job is what I get to write about. Upon graduating, I shied away from pursuing a career in editorial/publishing because I believed:
A.) I wouldn't get to write.
B.) If I did get to write, it would be about incredibly dry subject matter that would have an adverse effect on my love for writing.

But I am writing about so many great things, the art exhibitions in particular. I love researching the artists' work and history and who their influences were and finding where they overlap and collide. The gallery owners and collectors who consign some of these massive sales are just incredible. I have also found fine jewelry to be art as well, which is inexplicably inspirational. You will just have to read the articles.

So what's the problem with my creativity? I still have the inspiration and intrigue; I still have the interest in writing and, despite another old fear of mine, I still have the desire to write for pleasure even though I do it at work every day. Hell, I just worked overtime without breaks because I get so sucked in, and I still have been writing this blog post for this entire hour-and-20 minute train ride just to get back on the computer and type this final draft for you!

-CG

Flat Champagne Returns!

I'm sorry for neglecting you for so long; a lot has happened since I last wrote you. It seems that from Thanksgiving to New Years I feel like my life has done a complete 180. When I last left off, I had just overcome a rough night after Thanksgiving while writing a cover letter for a possible job opportunity in Chicago. That was was honestly one of the toughest nights I'd had since graduating; but then, just as I'd woken up from crying -- my eyes still swelled and all -- everything started coming together. It is like it was all a test, and the final exam, to force myself -- no, to pick myself up (though not without help from others around me) -- to just do what I had to do after a long rut of doing, what seemed like, nothing.

First off, I realized that the cover letter I dreaded so much was not really about the cover letter itself at all. It was a symbol of monotony -- a hopeless monotonous tone my life had taken on (or maybe I had chosen to take on myself) -- and I just could not take another repetitive thing that I did not want to do anymore. But mostly, I did not want to let go: to let go of Thailand, let go of college, and even let go of a 5-day trip to California. To me, it was letting go of something each of those symbolized to me: freedom. But the truth is, I had never been so captive in my entire life as I was during that fixation and that state of stagnancy.

By this point you are probably wondering what the heck happened to bring this epiphany.

Well, i didn't give up my dreams, but I moved on, which is what I realize you have to do to in order to achieve your dreams sometimes. In so many words:

I sent in that cover letter, was oh-so relieved and was eagerly awaiting a response, when a few days after the last rut (the night after I shared it with you) I was at my aunt's house to see my cousin Lauren before she flew back to L.A. Previously, while out in L.A., she picked up some tarot cards and, with some direction, got pretty good at reading them. We'd always gotten a kick out of things like that, so she read mine and the first thing she landed on was regret. She said that I wasn't sleeping well -- that I was tired because I couldn't move forward from the past and couldn't be happy until I did. We couldn't figure out what she was talking about for a little while until she asked about Thailand, and then -- whether it was the cards, intuition, or her just being close enough to me to sense that something was deeply troublesome -- I realized she was right. Every time I'd come close to an opportunity of any kind, I would go half-way and then freak out (like I did in my last post) and I would revert to fixating on my inability to go to Thailand, which would lead to me becoming depressed and thrusting myself back into another rut. Obviously... it's no wonder I was getting nowhere! The longer I held onto the past (me not going to Thailand), the longer I held my head underwater, drowning myself in my regrets.

After my realization that night, I felt like I purged myself of all that negativity, regret, and sadistic sorrow. And just a few days after that, I got an e-mail from a very dear family friend, who I worked for at my internship, in response to my second California post. She told me there was an opening at her friend's magazine and she thought I would be a good fit and that her friend and I would really get along. I was hesitant because I had just become grounded and accepted that my next step would be in Chicago and was afraid if I took a chance on this, I might slip back into my old pattern. But I knew it would be foolish to pass up the opportunity, so I went ahead and set up an interview the next day... and she was right.


The woman who interviewed me -- my would-be boss -- and I talked for an hour. I left the interview feeling excited and renewed. It was a job with a great deal of opportunity for learning, experience, and room for growth in exactly the field I wanted to pursue. A week later, I got an offer! And I was dying to talk to you guys about it before and after the interview but because this blog is on my resume I couldn't until things were settled. But now, a month later, I am working! I am the Editorial Assistant from Robb Report; and I am writing a lot and learning a lot and it is only my second week, but I love it. And this blog helped me so much. All of your supportive comments and loyal reading helped me incredibly; in some sense, I feel like starting this blog prompted my comeback.


So I am sad that I didn't even hit 10 posts on Flat Champagne, but I am not ready to say goodbye. So, I propose a new topic -- the blog needs a direction and I need your help. Please send me any ideas/input as to  what you would like to read and where you'd like to see Flat Champagne go. We might even be up for a possible name change who knows?! Some of the ideas so far were to allow other people to contribute, to talk about the young, post-grad professional life and all that entails, to start featuring more creative writing sometimes... but I really think you probably have some solid suggestions and insight to contribute, so please do!

Thank you and love to all who have helped me throughout this crazy transition and unstable time in my life. And, of course, many, many thanks for always reading!

cover letter (journal entry, sunday 1:52 am)

sometimes when i am sitting here staring at a cover letter that is driving me insane at 1:52 am, i just get so angry and frustrated because i don't want to do this. i was smart enough to know what was best for myself. i wouldn't be in this position time and time again if i had just gotten to do what i planned. and i have to live with the regret. i am the one who has to reshape her life to fit something into my schedule that could have already fit in. it isn't really fair. every time i am in this very position i become overwhelmed, swallowed by regret and pain and fear and anger; discouraged and sad and lost, and how everything is just not right to the point that i am writing this right now. and for how many times i have had these thoughts swarming through my head, sending me into a craze, until i silence them. i pacify them with affirmations about how everything happens for a reason and that it will all work out: just put this aside and move forward, finish the letter, send it out, get the job, you'll settle and be happy. think of how many times i have had to hush these haunting horrors until they've returned, because they always do. they have before, they're here tonight, and they will resurface again. and each time i try to write a draft, the pain lodged in the depths of my throat like i've been shouting over loud music for hours without ever opening my mouth. this is an attempt to verbally embody what it feels like and why i feel so unsettled all the time, why i'm constantly so restless. i fear that this job will not quiet these feelings and fears, and if not, then what? but what else can i do but keep trying, keep moving forward, keep finishing the letter so i can send it out and get the job and be happy.

California Love, Reprise

The ride is scenic. We follow a wall of rock; we pass over hills and through valleys. The land is incredible -- it makes the term "grounded" seem relative, 'cause you just cant stay grounded here: you can't help but lose yourself in dream. It is unlike anything I think of when I think of America. The trees twist in ways that make you forget you're close to desert and rock and sea all at once. I put my feet in the Pacific Ocean and it is perfectly cold, and power courses through my body. I feel this strange emptiness -- like I've never felt anything in my life until this moment -- a mix of nostalgia and excitement. I feel alone but on my own. There's just nothing like it on the East Coast. 

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I started writing this post on the Amtrak from San Diego to LAX, closing my five-day adventure in Southern California.

My trip to SoCal was filled with laughs and memories -- from the San Diego Zoo to just about every bar in Pacific Beach. But what I took from it was the lifestyle, the feeling. We went out with locals and wandered; and I found that this was a place I could, and would live.

My parents warned me about this. They knew I would fall in love with California and wouldn't ever want to leave, but I honestly wasn't prepared for this. When I realized we were really leaving California, I felt physical pain in my heart -- that sunken knot in your chest you feel after a bad break up or when you deeply miss someone you love.

And I love California, in the purest sense of the word.

I am forced to face it as I pass by the hills and freeways, houses built on top of and into hills. It reminds me too much of Italy this way. I find myself thinking/feeling the same things I did when I was leaving Perugia. And also like Italy, coming home -- home to the cold, stagnant, stability and dependence -- feels like paralysis.

Living at home means ultimately having to answer to someone, which inhibits what you do and how you spend your day. You can't just do as your please. This inevitable consciousness of your parents' presence rekindles that adolescent dependence on their approval -- the inability to do something, something significant, without permission. Therefore, you suddenly feel incapable of making decisions on your own. You've regressed to childhood.

Of course coming back from Cali was difficult because it was a beautiful place and a good time. But it was that much harder because being there was also a glimpse of my life as I once knew it: doing as I please, being young and being surrounded by other young people, laughing nonstop and constant stimulation. And what better a place to do so than Southern California, where fun feels effortless.

However, my new found love has me even more torn over an issue I've debated now for years, since I left Italy actually: the importance of career opportunity versus love for your land. Yes, both of these can coexist, but in many places it does present a problem.

When I met with the WWD contact in L.A., she told me that if I am most concerned with becoming the Editor at a magazine, I should go to New York. The greatest job market, especially in journalism, is in New York. But if I still don't know, if I am open to possibility, to just go somewhere I love. Well, I love San Diego. I want to live there, but there is hardly what you'd call a job market, especially not for me.

So the question I ask myself lately is, which is more important: greater job opportunity or land? Is it your profession or your place of residence that will bring you closer to fulfillment? I assure you that the answer will be different for everyone; and I suspect that most people will, like me, struggle to find an answer that satisfies them. So, I present you all a little something to muse over your Thanksgiving food coma... What do you think is most important?

A happy holiday to all...

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California Love...

So it is 3:42 am on Friday, November 12th and I am heading off for my first trip out to California. Just posting to inform you that I wont be writing for the next five days. The trip was planned on a bit of a whim about a month ago when my friend Ricky announced that he was going to San Diego to present in a Neuroscience convention. My friend Colby and I tagged along. We will be visiting two of my cousins, and I am meeting a professional contact at WWD, Conde Nast Publications L.A. office through an internship I had in New York a few years back. I am pretty sure they don't have a job for me, but you never know what might come of it. Hopefully, I will have something good to report when I get back. Wish me luck!

This weekend I went back to my alma mater, Muhlenberg College, to visit my boyfriend. You think it'd be great going back to the place that helped you grow into the person you are, where you made lifelong friends, and opened your mind up to a world of possibilities, until you get there and realize: "Wait, who are all these people?" and "That guy looks like he's 14."

I had a great time with Ben, but it was so strange to walk around that campus -- a place I once called "home" -- and know I didn't belong there anymore. I spent the whole weekend trying to dodge the masses because I wanted to avoid the "what are you doing here" look on people's faces; and even more so, I just couldn't bear to face that same, haunting question again: "So what are you doing now?"

To those of us who aren't doing anything, this question is the ultimate blow to the ego -- the punch to the gut. I dread having conversations with strangers, and thus somewhat dread meeting new people these days solely because of this question and many others like it. I think you can probably empathize when I say sometimes I just want to reply: "It's none of your damn business."

I'm becoming a grump.

Okay, I'm being melodramatic... I am not a grump. I am just sick of feeling like I need to have an excuse tagged on the end of every "still searching for a job..." along with a list of 10 things I'm "trying to work on right now." Talk about pressure!

I don't want to get testy with people on the repeated subject of the "job search", and I don't want to leave every post-grad-plan conversation with a sour puss face and elevated blood pressure. Clearly people are just asking to try to be nice/sound interested/make conversation, and I know that 99% of the time no one is judging me, except myself.

And that's when I realized that it is just me. There's this little piece in each of us that doesn't have complete faith in ourselves, and that's the piece of you that gets so temperamental. The problem is that piece is magnified right now; our insecurities are like white blood cells attacking a virus, heading straight to the part that's lacking: our fulfillment.

It's really hard right now, and no one is jumping through hoops to hire you anyway so you start to feel like why bother. We feel stuck with this looming fear that we'll never find anything that makes us happy. Which turns into: if we are getting this discouraged and frustrated now, what does that mean for our future?

I have to be honest, today I am feeling kind of low. On days like this I wonder if I'll ever find a job, or that I'll get stuck doing something I just spent years of time and money trying to avoid doing. I even start to question decisions I made months or even years ago that I haven't looked back on until now: "Maybe I should have pursued that Business Minor instead; what if I had gotten a second internship?" Why am I even thinking about these things, because since when are those very minor details even that important? Especially in a time where nearly the only people I know who have jobs got them through connections.

It's like a relationship gone stale: your mind keeps running through memories and moments you had, the decisions you made, looking for what you could have changed that would have changed the position you are in now.

So why are these trivial decisions in my life up until this point haunting me?


I guess it comes down to two things that all humans share: fear and the desire for control. Of course it is scary to think that we could have had some control at some point over the position we're in now. And the only reason this position is scary in the first place, is because we fear that we may never get out of it -- that the "rut" that we keep reminding ourselves is temporary because we "just graduated" could become permanent.

All I can say to that is: yes, it is true that had I never changed my minor from business to art, or decided to participate in fewer extra curricular activities so I could spend more time on my school work, or had I taken a different route on dozens of decisions in my undergrad life, I may have ended up in a slightly different position. Maybe I would have a job or been in graduate school, but I -- and you -- have to keep in mind that there is a reason we did not make those decisions the first time around. Sure, some of our reasons were probably better than others -- I probably could have spent more time studying for that test if I skipped the dinner party with my friends -- but really, which of those things do you remember now that you are standing here longingly looking back?

I remember every dinner party, but I could not tell you what that test was on or how I felt while I was taking it. I can't even remember what grade I got on it. School work is your priority in college. But, as one of my professors used to always say jokingly, "studying is always interfering with college," and the "college" of that statement is the part that's going to stay in your heart forever.

Now I'm not urging you who are still in school to ditch your work and party. Rather, I am acknowledging the fact that we have all had to make a lot of tough decisions as students; and while many of them we could have made differently, our lives will always have an abundance of decisions to make... we didn't blow our one shot. Just because we didn't choose the path we thought we would when we started, or even when we graduated college doesn't mean that we need to be ready with a list of excuses for our current status. No one will think you're nuts for saying, "I honestly don't know what I want to do with my life yet." You may find some people will look taken aback, but most will answer -- even at two or three times your age and wisdom -- "Hey, neither do I."

Thanks for letting me vent today. Stay tuned -- this week I'll be looking for the cure to restore faith in the self.