After I got out of grad school, I went to New York to become a publishing industry bigwig. I pretty much failed. On a lot of levels. But most basically at the level of being able to live in New York City. It was too big and too different and I couldn’t find people I liked nor did I have any idea how to find people I liked. Everyone I liked there was just by accident and there just weren’t that many.
Eventually, I went to New Jersey and hid in my aunt’s basement and felt like a failure–like if I’d just been tougher or stuck it out longer or known to move to Brooklyn not Manhattan or whatever–I could have done it, but that I fucked up without even knowing what I was fucking up.
It was a really difficult time in my life. I’ve failed at things I wasn’t very good at. And I’ve failed at things I didn’t give a shit about. But I’d never failed to do something I really, really wanted to do.
But I did.