Switching Gears to New York City

“Enter every activity without giving mental recognition to the possibility of defeat. Concentrate on your strengths, instead of your weakness…on your powers, instead of your problems.” – Paul J. Meyer.


It happened a few weeks ago right when I had that “aha” moment – the moment when I almost nearly cried to myself after discovering what I always loved. As I analyzed my current situation vs. what I wanted to pursue, what’s the worst that could happen if I move to NYC?


Barring the high risk of becoming homeless, there really is nothing to worry about. I could always move back to Texas in the worst-case scenario, which I don’t even want to consider. New York City is the greatest city in the world – full of energy, diverse culture, arts, food, shows, and constant viewing pleasure from the skyline to the lively parks. And you know what’s crazy? I never even stepped foot in the city.

I am more than happy to admit that I am crazy – crazy enough to do something spontaneous, life changing, and exciting. This act will surely be a transformation to become more than just a post-grad working a part-time job. I don’t even want to work a lifeless, dead-end job, confined in a cubicle doing the dull routine from 9 in the morning to 5 in the evening – put that schedule on repeat Monday thru Friday almost every week until you retire…or die in the process.

Doesn’t that sound like the most amazing job ever!? Anyone who has worked a job similar to that has lived life at its fullest and made astonishing self-fulfilling contributions. Is that true?

Surely, it is subject to an individual’s opinion, but I envision a world far greater than working a job fit for a robot.

There has to be more out there. After living a sheltered upbringing, I am craving for stimulation for what is out there. I know there’s more. And I am willing to respond to potential punches in the face while I’m exploring the new life.

I am aware of all the negative aspects of living in the jungle. Honestly, every place has its negative. Take a look at the quote I inserted in the beginning. Meditate on it. Dream. Aspire.


Searching for a Foundation

During this start-up phase of my blog, developments will surely run at a slow pace. I’m still deciding on exactly how this blog should be implemented. Should this be used as a self-help blog, or should I just guest post on other blogs? Maybe this blog should be a site exclusively about me – my bio, thoughts, my [hopeful] involvements in CNN and the Wall Street Journal.

My worries are that I can’t be egocentric anymore. I’d rather not bore the audience solely talking about myself. I learned that the hard way from all the blogs I’ve had since 2004. I was told by many I was a good writer, but most of my writings consisted of my personal life experiences…more like depressing life experiences.

Who wants to read a depressing blog? In almost 10 years in the making, I have found a way to turn my so-called “depressing” experiences into a guideline people can learn from. This will be my new slate.

As of late, I’m constantly interrupted from a good nights sleep as thoughts and ideas lay concentrated in my head, as I have my iPhone’s brightly lit screen sting my eyes just so I can record my voice and type up notes before I forget them. These IDEAS won’t stop. I’m getting kind of excited about it.

Same scenario happened a few hours ago. It’s Thursday morning now, and I have not had a second of sleep. It makes me wonder what successful writers do on a regular basis – do they have rephoto-2gular sleep schedules?

It’s 7AM here as I’m enjoying a solo breakfast at La Madeleine indulging in their “French Breakfast” meal, black coffee and some extraneous carbs in the background. Very simple, but tastes so good. Enjoy breakfast with me. Hope to see you soon!

Background of an aspiring writer

Texas in May 2014 I graduated with a psychology degree. Woo! The first couple months after walking the stage to obtain my treasured 8.5 X 11 thick piece of paper, I binged on job applications like never before. After all the tedious work attempting to land a job, I never received single a follow up  – not even those automated “We’re sorry we cannot hire you because apparently you’re not good enough” type of emails.

Flash forward 3 months, I am writing this. Nothing has changed. Instead of taking in a maudlin approach, I have decided to take advantage of it. This free time allowed me clear my thoughts and relax the sore muscles my brain endured prior to graduating. I always aspired to becoming a writer or a journalist, but family members have forcibly pushed down that dream my first year of college, as they scared me on how I will fail as a writer. In the x amount of years it took for me to graduate, I was just existing and not living. My creative outlet has been temporarily disabled due to lack of inspiration.

I don’t know what the future has in store for me. All I know is that I am an aspiring author/journalist who wants to make it a reality. Sharing stories, learning, traveling, and meeting new people is not a job – it’s an adventure! There is no other job out there that I could be intrinsically motivated in. This is my “aha” moment. I almost cried when I realized this is what I wanted to pursue.

Despite my irrelevant education and work experience, my eyes still lay on the prize. I will start ground zero and grow, and that is exactly what this blog is. Regardless of the turnout of events, I will still be doing what I love. Interviewing people (without that “reporter pass”), writing inspirational reports and short stories would still be as exciting whether or not I am being paid to do it. If CNN, ABC, NBC, Fox News or any other major news source decide to hire me in the process, what am I waiting for?

Onset of Writing

I have immersed myself in writing since the day I got my first journal at 9 years old. My mother and I were at a gift store in San Francisco and she asked me to get something. Out of all the toys, candy and useless junk kids known for devouring in, my eyes gravitated toward a series of journals. It was an instant attraction. The view of crisp journals, which lay neatly on the shelf, told me to compose a story waiting to be unleashed. My selection was a compact, hardcover journal with a picture of Snoopy. I think the journal is still intact, hidden underneath all the junk in my parents’ storage. The journal was the first of many. “Why so many?” one would ask.

Bullies. If someone were to ask me to describe my childhood in 1 word, that was it. It remained a mystery why kids picked on me. All I have to do was exist and it irritated them. I would enter a classroom and kids would notoriously yell out Chinese verbiage and place their fingers at the side of their eyes to make them seem wider. It was nothing but hell and teachers did nothing about it. I moved several times throughout my childhood and the same story goes. No matter what type of school – private, pubic, high class, low class – manipulation of any variable favored the same result. Bullies are prevalent anywhere I went. This realization marked the onset of my anxiety and depression. I have spent nights literally crying myself to sleep and feared going to school everyday because I did not know what new horror story my classmates would improvise on me. I became paranoid and started to think irrationally. I learned at a very early age that I can’t trust anyone. The most reasonable conclusion about my victimization was that I potentially carried some neurophysiological energy that triggered aggression on these deranged kids. It’s a mystery.

Going back to the gift store in San Francisco, I believe there was a reason the journal caught my attention. Despite the trauma, I should be grateful because my troubled childhood introduced me to the healing power of writing.