A Londoners first impression of New York City

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Across the Atlantic I find an anti-culture shock. Every step feels like a pop culture reference. The large suburban family home of Khalim's red headed Irish American family is so big and full of shiny American things that it feels like the film set of a sitcom about said family. Our train into Grand Central station races past buildings that look like the homes of the stars of Frazier and Friends, Sex in the city and Girls. New York accents really exist. Yellow taxi's really exist. The Statue of Liberty might not exist. The dust men and concierge and train conductors all look to me like they got their uniforms at fancy dress shops. This is because they resemble too closely the ones I've only seen in films.

We stroll around Manhattan. Colour is not chic. Fashion consists of expensive black suits and expensive black gym wear. Anna Wintour is this cities longest serving fashion icon. Breakfast in the diners sprawls over two plates but everywhere I look there's sushi and kale. New York has great dogs. The dogs are the real fashionistas here: every canine has a great coat and a good looking owner.

Two days and two burning feet later and I've done most of the sites: the Chrysler building, the flatiron building, the New York library and the Empire State. At union square I learn that chess isn't just for chess club: chess is for the hustler. 

I'm ready to venture further: so we walk, I think through little Venice, China town and the East Village although I can't be sure. We stare at the skateboarders in Washington State Park. There's some pretty great buskers as always. Busker's, like food and dogs, are in a different league in this city. My first steps into Grand Central Station sound like funk and soul and jazz. New York may not be the best looking or smelling city but it sounds and tastes great. 

Nights out are in Irish bars and restaurants. The Irish have been coming to America by way of New York since the 1400s. Take a ferry over to Ellis Island and you can find the names of all the Irish immigrants. Ellis Island, covered in renovated  hospitals and quarantine centers, was where the initiation took place. This is where the American dream was handed over. Today you are never far from an Irish accent: there are plenty of waitressing jobs in New York City for young Irish girls.This is because the Irish community is big and friendly and owns lots of restaurants. We eat great food, the drinks are always overpoured and people are friendlier that your standard New Yorkers.

On Sunday we are wise not to miss a browse around the Williamsburg Flea market, the winter branch of the Brooklyn Flea. Maybe my vision is rose tinted by the new johnlennonesque sunglasses I bought from a street vendor but I think we find better vintage shop that can be found in all of East London, Notting Hill or Camden high Street. I try on the jumpsuit of my dreams and feel pretty sad because I know we have to travel light and cheap. The smorsbourg market has expensive literal 'bites' to eat (not the portions New Yorkers are accustomed to). Wacky morsels such as 'ramen burgers', burgers with buns made out of noodle, make me laugh. On our way back we browse through rough trade records and stumble upon a candle lit talk by art legend Brewer P-oridge. Lots of the gems we find in Williamsburg are not for sale.

On our last day, we walk freezing along the Brooklyn bridge. I finally spy the Statue of Liberty and I feel I can say goodbye to New York City. I've found that there's a lot more to this city than that particular green lady.

A letter to people who are worried because they don't know what to do with their lives.

I took the road less travelled by,

And that has made all the difference. Robert Frost

Today I lost my job, got locked out, got stuck in a tiny window trying to climb back in and started this blog. My name is Eliza Turner and recently i've been stuck by this floating feeling. A feeling that i'm wasting my life. From a young age I had my life mapped out; I made large sweeping statements and stuck to them: I was decisive. At some point this decisiveness became hazy. I traded in my black and white for grey. I didn't know what I wanted to do with my life anymore. Did I really want to be a doctor?

I'm taking a year out of medical school to regroup and I suppose work out the meaning of my life and I thought i'd start this blog to make a collection of my reflections. What have I learnt so far?

I've learnt that 'not knowing what you want to do with your life' is a problematic symptom of privilege and opportunity. The world is my oyster; I've got the world at my feet: more than two roads diverge in a yellow wood and and I, like many of us in our generation, feel sorry we can not take them all. With so much opportunity ahead of us we find it cripplingly hard to give something or someone all of ourselves. When we are told we can be anything we want to be, settling on that anything can be confusing. 

But it can important to settle to sharpen your focus. Goodwin RE et al. argue that by nature to strive is to settle. To decide one wants to become an incredibly successful anything means giving up the chance to explore other paths to fruition. Although, should she desire, she can skim through the New Scientist, Beyoncé will never be a famous physicist. I imagine Barack Obama doesn't lose much sleep over the fact he will never win the Turner prize. That isn't to say that not knowing what you want to be when you grow up right now matters: Colonel Sanders only found his crunchy fried calling in life at age 65. If your still feeling anxiety over your indecisiveness, it can help to to gain some perspective to realise how unimportant the decision may be. 

Consider that there are 7 billion people in the world and that every time you refresh the world clock counter homepage, the number climbs. Ponder over the fact that 99% of your body is made up of just six elements:oxygen, carbon, hydrogen, nitrogen, calcium, and phosphorus. Consider that when you die you will biodegrade and all of those elements will turn into seas and mountains and mountain goats. When you die you will probably be forgotten within 50 years. In 100 years, chances are nobody will even remember you ever existed. That may sound daunting but it can be an incredibly comforting reminder to live in the moment.

Having said that, it's important to remember that delayed gratification is a thing. Work hard and be nice to people you find annoying because it will pay of for you and make you happy. But don't put in to much effort for too little returns. Don't stress about getting something done everyday or you'll waste your life running errands and be too tired to have fun. 

Thats what I've learnt this year so far. Except I already knew it. I wrote the exact same thing down following a previous existential crisis following a life altering minor break up. The kind of trivial break-up that requires psychotherapy for both breakees after. The kind of break up where you break into their house in the middle of the night and hide behind a curtain crying with their cat.

Another thing i've learnt is that life doesn't tell stories. You're life is a series of unfortunate events and somehow you get somewhere good or bad. We all want a narrative. We all want to sit in heaven and tell are lost relatives 'the story of our lives'. We want a moral at the end not a cliff hanger and we want it all to have a deep meaning. But 99% of the stuff that happens doesn't change anything or add to your plot. And you just have to get on with it and ride the rollercoaster like Ronan Keating Tells you to. And sometimes you have to learn life's lessons over and over again.