My mom sent me an email on Wednesday with, “Twenty years ago, we landed in New York. You were five!” and nothing else. It made me very emotional at work. I pretended that my database was making me cry.
I thought back to when I was five, my dreams, goals and aspirations. I wanted to be a novelist. I still want to be a novelist. I loved ponies. Still do. And I loved Sesame Street. Still do. Then I thought to the huge difference between then and now. I wonder what five-year-old me would think of me.
Because Now Me is the sum of 20 years of my family’s hopes and dreams, and I hope I lived up to their expectations when they left everything behind. Except I’m still not done living up to my own expectations. I’m not a published writer, and I still have never seen the Bay of Bengal, which is my dream. But I’m working on it.
- Better than mommyblogs.
- Somehow the fact that my family came to America with $300 doesn’t make me feel sorry for this dude
- Dating in China
- Favorite Russian writers
- A book I am mildly interested in
- And here are some books you might be interested in
- New Atlantic site just about cities
- When your publisher sucks
- Hire for the ability to get shit done
- A Holly Golightly for the Stripper-Embezzlement age
- Living in the suburbs and here’s some more
- Jew plates
- Fauna friends