I want to be a MA blogger

Who are all these good looking, successful Mormons living in New York City?! Seriously! I've become a little (ahem) obsessed with moving to Manhattan and I've found that one of the most informative and easy ways of getting to know life as a Mormon in the NYC is through blogs. I've only found four so far the mother-ship of blog link, which may be a good bad thing - seeing as how I need some time to go to work and school.

And to be honest, the blogs I really enjoy reading the most happen to be written by middle-aged women living in confusingly small places that I don’t even remember the names of. I’ve decided to call them the MA women – kind of like being upgraded from the bachelor. They write about life like all the others – but there isn’t much in the way of it. Meaning, I’m not barraged by cutsie layouts and odes to husbands.

And yet, I’m fascinated with these young Mormon couples that live in the big city. Maybe I read so diligently to see if there are any similarities between all of them; as if I’m searching to see what environmental or personal factors provide for a specific outcome – that of being great (of course). I haven’t found much yet, and it has nothing to do with whether or not these people are fashionable, successful, and have no problems ever (this is why MA-women blogs are better). So, due to my slim findings, a few nights ago I performed my yearly ritual of having a complete meltdown. John has witnessed much since we’ve been married –but luckily only one (who’s counting right?) other breakdown of mine. I usually end up sitting on the floor somewhere, like our hallway, this time crying about how I don’t really know what I want to do with my life and how there won’t be any opportunities for me in New York. I was a royal mess. And I know I’ve posted quite a few mushy things lately, and I know this puts me in a place I already detest – but I couldn’t shy away from this deserved call out (hollah). John was amazing. I was half expecting him to turn away from me every half second to roll his eyes and think what an idiot he was for marrying me (I don’t know, maybe he did – it was dark). I did my thing where I ignored his questions and said things like “you don’t really want to know” and “there isn’t much you can help me with” (how embarrassing – I’d be the perfect case study for any burgeoning four year-old drama queen). But I was wrong. He warmed a rice pack and some milk and sat next to me in our dark hallway on the floor and said the words that I needed to hear. Once again I’m excited for our move to New York! I’m no longer letting my doubts entirely take hold in me because I feel like I have a purpose again, a future in New York – even if I’m not quite sure what that is yet. I no longer feel a reason to compare myself with all those fashionable Mormons in New York.