Somewhere on the Lower East Side of Manhattan sits – for lack of a better description – a bicycle in a sweater. I wonder if someone knitted the bike at home and then brought it outside to display it on the street, or if its sweater was knitted separately and attached to the already-locked-to-the-sign bike? Either way, this bike is full out hipster-fresh ugly.

photo by David Factor

My friend Factor emailed me this photo last week after my post about the beautiful, classic Schwinn I found for sale in small town Ste. Genevieve, Missouri and the public art bicycles I blogged about last February, also found in Ste. Genevieve.

So my question for you is if you had to have one of these bikes living on your block, which would you prefer; the Ste. Genevieve bikes or the Lower East Side sweater bike?

Small Town Girl on a Boat

1. I’m training for my first half marathon, which means that I’m getting super-buff (!!!) and spending most of my free time running.

2. I’ve taken up a new hobby which also helps me feel buff. You’ll have to come back later this week to read more about that.

3. Cool side projects are popping up for me. From writing for additional magazines to potential sponsored travel opportunities to speaking at conferences on social media and nonpfrofits, things have been taking off in a great way outside of my blog. These projects mean that I don’t have quite as much time as I used to for exploring small town, Missouri.

4. By moving to a place where cost of living is so much more manageable than it was in New York City, saving money is easier. As a result I’m taking my first big vacation since moving back to the United States in 2007. Where am I going? You’ll have to come back tomorrow to find out.:-)

Moving from Taipei to New York City to 12-Miles-From-Nowhere has been awful at times. It’s been lonely as hell. It’s been trying and difficult, and it’s made me question who I am, what I want, and what I believe. Sixteen months after starting my job here in rural Missouri though, I can see that this move was exactly where I needed to be, even if I still don’t know all the reasons why.

Opportunities are unfolding that I could never have anticipated, and I’m living out dreams that I never thought I’d be able to accomplish. Sometimes we have to keep our eyes on horizons that seem far out of reach so that we’re on the right trajectory to crash into the amazing things life has in store for us. Wherever you are on your course in life, find that horizon and focus on it. Good things will come, I have faith.

I came across a photo of the Brooklyn Bridge by accident, and suddenly I could smell the air in DUMBO (down under the Manhattan and Brooklyn Overpasses) and hear the noises of New York City. As if I were standing at the edge of a high cliff, vertigo swept over me and my stomach turned flip-flops. My body froze for a second as if I might fall over the edge out of rural Missouri and into the heart of Brooklyn.

And then, as fast as it overcame me, I was back in my leather desk chair in my cozy office in rural South/Central Missouri where the air smells like trees and the only noises are my office fan and Peter Gabriel’s cover of “Flume”.

In my first year back in my home state, I’ve learned…

1. That the first year is only the beginning. I came here hoping for new and great professional and personal challenges. Boy oh boy, have I met them. And as the first year ends, I’m not over the hump yet…I know that year #2 is going to teach me, mold me, and refine me even more. Bring it on, second year…I’m ready for you.

2. That you can’t romanticize the past. (See my letter to New York.)

3. That my family is rockin’. I seriously can’t imagine having parents who are any more supportive, loving and understanding than mine are.

4. That the midwest does not, contrary to popular NYC opinion, make you fat.

5. That country music ain’t so bad.

6. That a big city, overly-educated woman can learn a helluva lot from a small town, life-educated man.

7. That small town Missouri has a lot going for it. A year into this blog, I’m doing anything but running out of fodder to write about. For each new post I publish, I have ideas for several more. And my readers and twitter friends are constantly making great suggestions for places I’ve not seen or heard about yet.

8. That persistence pays off – a year ago I hoped to someday be published, so I started writing and doing photography for smalltowngirlsguide.com. Now I’m writing and doing photography regularly for two magazines, and seeing opportunities arise to either guest blog or be the subject of other people’s blogs.

9. That the great social media experiment worked – I wondered if I could use SM to minimize the geographic space between me and my friends/colleagues in other cities. Social media can’t replace real-life interactions, but it can certainly help to maintain relationships at a distance.

10. That my marketing and social media ideas for nonprofits work. A year into the first NPO job where I’ve had significant responsibility, decision-making power, and strategic influence, I’m seeing real, tangible results.

For better or for worse, it’s been one hell of a year.

To anyone who’s venturing out into a new endeavor,  making a life change, or seeking the courage to try a new path, consider yourself encouraged. My first year in Missouri has brought every challenge and opportunity I had hoped that it would…and more. Much, much more. But the first year is only the beginning.

Take chances. Make the harder decision. Challenge yourself. It’ll be worth it, I promise.

I’ve not forgotten you. Even as I lace up the hiking boots that I’m wearing to work today, I haven’t forgotten you. Even though I swore to myself a year ago that I’d never wear them to the office, I still remember you. As I look at the work-issued polo shirts hanging in my closet, I haven’t forgotten the promise I made to you that I’d never submit to wearing polos.

Nor have I forgotten the agreement that we made against me ever, ever wearing  khaki pants. But the polos are my “uniform” at work, and the khakis aren’t Dockers, they’re North Face. I bought them at REI, and they’re just so darned practical. Don’t you see that I can leave the office in said khaki pants and boots and head straight for the trails? Not that I’ve ever gone hiking directly from work, but you just never know when I might need to.  No, no, no…I promise you, New York. I haven’t forgotten you.

Even though I listen to country music sometimes in the car, I haven’t forgotten New York. My ipod is still loaded with Dark Was the Night, Bonnie “Prince” Billy, The Black Keys, and a slew of other artists who actually sing and write their own songs. And when Emily Wells comes on, I close my eyes and in an instant I’m back on the G train heading to Long Island City from Fort Greene.

New York City, I have not forgotten you. But I’ve learned not to romanticize you, either. As I look out my Southeast Missouri window and a halfway frozen creek and low-rolling hills covered in snow, I can see the sky and breath in fresh air. My view of Fort Greene Park on South Oxford Street wasn’t bad, New York, but this one is better.

And don’t think that I’ve forgotten the four flights of stairs I had to climb to get to my apartment there, New York, because I haven’t. Here in Southeast Missouri, I don’t have to carry my groceries up those steps. Nor do I have to haul my laundry up and down them on my way to that dingy, expensive laundry mat two blocks away. In fact, I have my own washer and dryer here, and my laundry room is bigger than my bedroom was there. You want me to forget those exhausting little details, but I haven’t. I remember you, New York…I remember everything about you.

I remember the beautiful spring days and the way the fall rushed in on me on one particular Saturday morning when suddenly the walk to the farmer’s market required a jacket and a warm cup of coffee between my cool hands. I also remember the woman who was raped in plain sight a block and a half from my home. Don’t think I’ve romanticized you, New York.

I remember the rush of riding on that Triumph Bonneville for the first time over the bridge into Manhattan on our way to see some obscure indie film. That was the first time I saw the skyline without a layer of scratched, greyed subway car window glass between it and me. But you know what, New York?  I also remember how God-forsaken cold you felt that day when my relationship with the man who drove that Triumph ended.

You’re a bitter sweet city, New York. You felt like home to me in so many ways. Ways that I don’t anticipate I’ll ever feel at home in any other city or town. But you and I? We’re over. For now at least.

So please, New York. Please, let’s remember the good moments fondly, but let’s not forget what a pain you can also be. Let’s let go of what was so that I can enjoy what is, and so that you can move on to your next unsuspecting small town girl. She’ll arrive on your sidewalks without realizing that you’re after her heart, and you’ll slip into that heart, making yourself irresistible to her just like you did to me. Girls like me are a dime a dozen to you, New York, so please, please, let me go.

Thanks New York.

Love,

MilliGFunk

Tommyknockers, photo by smalltowngirl

On December 30th, we sat in Tommyknockers Brewery in Idaho Springs, Colorado. In front of us were ten tiny mugs of beer and copious amounts of food. We’d just spent a day driving to Colorado from Missouri in a four wheel drive pick-up truck, which made my small town self giddy with country-girl glee. We were headed to Keystone the next day to snowboard, and I was starting to feel free from all of the bindings of New York City that have held on to me so tightly for the last ten months.

When I lived in New York, life was so expensive that I budgeted for things as small as a weekly trip to a local coffee shop. Snowboarding and cross-country road trips were laughable. Living in New York was an adventure in itself – an adventure on a higher level than riding down a mountain with a board strapped to my feet. I learned so much about myself there, and I loved (and sometimes hated) the years I spent there.

Somehow, though, over the last few days, I’ve finally let go of something about New York that I’ve been holding on too tightly to.  As we tasted our microbrews and ate fantastic food, I pulled my wallet out for something. Inside it sat my REI members card; a reminder of all the time I spent outdoors now that I’m out of New York. I was sipping Tommyknocker’s Maple Brown Ale when the following words left my lips:

“I’m not in New York City anymore. And I like it.”

Tony stopped what he was doing and looked at me. I felt my own jaw drop open just before a smile crept over my face. I’m not in New York anymore…and I LIKE it.  My eyes must have been asking if I’d really just said those words, because without me even having to ask him, Tony answered, “you really just said those words.”

On December 30th, 2009, I realized that I’m glad I’m not in New York City now. I still miss it, and I can’t deny that my life was shaped largely by the years I spent there. With that realization though, in a brewery in Colorado, a weight was lifted. While other bloggers may be posting New Year’s resolutions or Best of 2009 lists, I’m simply sharing the peace that comes from letting go of the past. Here’s to a wonderful 2010.

Central Park Leaves, photo by smalltowngirl

It’s not just New York that I miss, but then again, it’s probably never place, separate from the rest of life, that anyone misses. For the last two days, I’ve missed New York City with an aching, depressing, loneliness that only hits at the end of the day, when my guard is down, my mind is resting, and my heart takes control.

It’s not just the cold, windy streets of New York in November that I miss. It’s not just the feeling of the air on the day when a light jacket is no longer enough. It’s not just the weeks when the leaves disappear from the trees and orange leaves turn to brown that eventually becomes covered by snow. It’s not just the smell of the subway or the sound of my cowboy boots clunking against the concrete.

I miss more than that.

It’s not even just my yoga classes in the tiny, musty old basement of the YMCA in Greenpoint, even though those yoga classes brought me so much peace and clarity. It’s not just the long ride on the G train from Fort Greene to Long Island City to see the man who held me so close for so many months. And it’s not just the hot tea he’d fix me on cold winter nights when I arrived at his apartment, cheeks and nose reddened from the cold. It’s not just the two-eggs-and-cheese-on-a-kaiser-roll-and-a-coffee-with-cream-no-sugar that was my Friday morning street vendor breakfast tradition.

I miss more than that, too.

It’s not just the long walks on Sunday mornings, when Brooklyn was relatively still. It’s not just the dodgeball league I played on or my studio of piano students in Bensonhurst or my coworkers at the Garden. It’s not just the shortcuts I learned to take or the feeling of accomplishment that came from doing even basic things like laundry or grocery shopping in such a massive city. It’s not just the craftsman in Union Square or the dozens of great little shops in SoHo or the amazing wine bar in Fort Greene.

I miss everything about New York and what it represented in my life.

I miss that time when I was fresh back in the United States after twelve months studying Chinese and working and traveling in Asia. Nothing was too gritty, too real, too raw for me then. I miss my New York City love life and the man who loved me. I miss my tiny bedroom with my big window in my fourth story walk-up on my Cosby Show block in Brooklyn.

I miss the way I felt when I lived there; like the entire world was at my fingertips, and I could do anything. It felt like I was at the front edge of the world; of fashion, of finance, of the Arts…of pretty nearly everything.

So tonight I admit that for as much as I’m trying to love Missouri and seek out what’s beautiful and interesting and gritty and inspiring about this state, I miss New York City.  I still believe that the move back to Missouri was the right decision, but I miss New York with an aching throbbing loneliness that I don’t even know how to begin to address.

Through the window, photo by smalltowngirl

Ste. Genevieve, Missouri is among the small towns I’ve explored that has a few murals to brag about. The close-up of the guy in the window is great. Check out his missing eye and bubble gum nose…

Bubble gum nose, photo by smalltowngirl

I like think that if this little girl could talk, she’d be saying,  ”Ugggh, PLEASE dude.  Get the gum out of your nose and put your eyeball back in. SEEEriously, dude, uggggh.”

Annoyed and Disgusted, photo by smalltowngirl

And this guy was like, totally inspired by me, trekking around rural Missouri with my camera. Only he’s tall and I’m short, and he’s a dude and I’m not, and he’s got dude hair and I’ve got girl hair. Oh, and I’m pretty sure this mural has been around since before I trekked about Missouri with my camera.

But otherwise, totally and completely inspired by me.

Inspired by smalltowngirl, photo by smalltowngirl

My favorite Ste. Genevieve mural though is this one. I love how it isn’t clearly framed at the edges, creating a real sense of three dimensions.

Ste. Gen Mural, photo by smalltowngirl

New York City still takes the cake where art is concerned, but I think Ste. Genevieve’s murals are evidence of the valiant effort rural Missouri is  making to stay on the cultural maps. Nice work, home state. Nice work.

NYC=1, MO=0.5 (Yes, I’m now scoring in half-points. You got something to say about that?)

Ste. Genevieve is a truly beautiful and historic town, but the part of Ste. Gen I’d like to share with you this morning is just a simple store front window with my reflection in it; a little piece of a place I hold dear to my heart (literally, since I wear a necklace with a pendant of the Brooklyn Bridge most days).

If you look closely, you can see reflections of Ste. Genevieve’s downtown just below an image of the Brooklyn Bridge and New York City.

Brooklyn Bridge - Ste. Gen style, photo by/of smalltowngirl

Today I leave for a weekend trip to Pittsburgh, where a close friend of mine is getting married. Twelve hours in the car today doesn’t leave much time for talking to twitter friends or reminding people that a new post is up, so do a smalltowngirl a favor, and pass this link on to your friends!

Peanut Butter Blondies, photo by smalltowngirl

I found miniature peanut butter cups awhile back at the Olde Tyme Pantry in Farmington, but only recently got around to baking with them.

I’d envisioned the miniature peanut butter cups used in blondie bars, but had never baked them before. I found a recipe online for basic blondies, substituted half whole wheat flour for the recipe’s all white flour, and added the peanut butter cups.

Not bad at all for a first time, altered recipe.

Time to bake + fun finds in local grocery stores?

MO =1; NYC =0