On the subway ride home from the Inglot event I’d attended, what usually is an easy, sleepy ride, became an anxious, existential inner debate—which is saying a lot since I don’t even use those words (they sound pretentious, don’t they?). Instead of dozing off by the nth stop, I was wraught with anxiety and questions about where I’m headed in my career, such as: When will I email so and so? When do I start pitching [these magazines]? Plus, random thoughts, like, New York beauty events are depressing; beauty bloggers are narcissistic. [Touché.]
I felt a sense of limbo. Estée Lauder (beauty person) or Food Network (assistant of an assistant of a sous chef of one of the TV chefs)? Be a senior copywriter at an “esteemed” advertising agency or apply in the page program at NBC (and get a chance to order Tina Fey’s lunch)?
Walking home, I cut through the park where the snow has finally melted. There, I met Nino, a fat English bulldog being walked by a kind lady who stopped to let the adorable rotund heavyweight of a furball sniff my coat. I bent over to ruffle his ear and for a good minute let him sniff away. Within moments, Nino dragged his feet as we parted ways, and in that instant, I forgot all about everything else and felt a little smile sweep across my face.