![]() ![]() It was Adventure, which is what I thought Writers were meant to be engaged with. I traveled for a long time after our time in Taipei, to Cambodia, Vietnam, Japan, Laos, Thailand. There was some wine and some weed and hours and hours of Merlin and The West Wing. My time living in Asia went as one would expect for a twenty-two-year-old ex-pat with very few life skills. I got the security deposit back from my crooked-floored studio in Alphabet City, bought a plane ticket, and went East. I was going to be a Writer it would be Adventure. ![]() I had a friend who was living in Taiwan in an apartment with an extra room. I lasted a year in New York before the loneliness was so intense I had to leave. I tried to take up smoking the month I read everything Paul Auster had written, but the three cigarettes I smoked made me nauseated and I gave the one pack I’d bought to my co-workers at the restaurant. I waited tables for 60 hours a week and spent the rest of my time wandering around the city or reading. When I was 21, I finished college and moved to New York “to be a writer.” Though I had exactly no sense of what that might mean. When I was 27, the thing that made me feel most destabilized was normalcy. I wasn’t sure what adventures I might write about.Īmy Hempel says to write the thing that destabilizes your sense of yourself. I wasn’t sure I had the right to be a writer in the face of normalcy ![]()
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