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I have to say that for the last few years, I have been bitching and moaning about how I would like to move to Los Angeles to be closer to my friends and family. On occasion I even implied that I would be happier in New York since there would be so much to do, I would not miss my family and friends as much.

Often enough I have said that I live in the "suburbia" of San Diego, where the weather is always 75 degrees, and traffic is never out of control. People are pleasant, yet boring, and everyone goes off to sleep on a Friday night by ten p.m.  

Many of you know that for the last few weeks I was stressing about coming out to New York, to meet with Market Watch  to do a short segment on Fabulously40.com.  

I don't know what it is about me, but when I need to travel without my husband, I get a bit crazy. I stress about getting on the plane, off the plane, in the cab, out of the cab... I stress about getting around the city, etc.  Those that know me will find it absolutely ridiculous since I seem to be pretty self sufficient and confident in day to day activities- so what the heck am I stressing over? This is the question I have asked myself on many occasions, and I have yet to find the answer.

New York, New York.

I got to New York last night; the weather was phenomenal and I met my friend who is my marketing advisor for drinks and dinner. We had a lovely time, and I went to bed where I managed to toss and turn all night worrying about the Market Watch segment. I had no idea what to expect, I had no clue what questions would be asked, so of course I was anxious and stressed out.  

In the morning my friend called to announce that it was cold and raining, and that I needed an umbrella. That was all I needed to add to my peeking stress level. I had explicit directions on how to get to the subway and to my appointment, and I left the hotel an hour and a half earlier...just in case.  

Shopping

The first purchase of the day was an umbrella. Laughing at my first purchase I was trying to remember the last time I actually bought an umbrella, let alone used it.  I walked to the Penn Station and bought my ticket. For the East Coasters this is a silly discussion, but for someone that has spent over 31 years in California, this is no laughing matter. We Californian's don't walk, we drive, we are so far removed from public transportation, that when we actually have to get on the bus or the train, it becomes a whole ordeal that is foreign and stressful, and I'm not kidding.

Getting Around

I had to figure out what ticket I had to buy, which train I was taking, and where I was getting off. I'm not an anxious person.  Crazy yes, stressed out...sure, but anxious I'm not. Yet, within ten minutes of being on the subway, I felt like I needed a chill pill. I had one connection, praising myself (yes, praising, this was a big accomplishment); I got off the right destination and changed trains. In about five minutes, the train, or at least my train cabin was empty. We were stopped, and I was in the dark. Immediately panicking I dialed my friend and got her voice mail. Not knowing why we were stopped, I sat there thinking of what to do next.  Who knew that sometimes only the first five cabins of the train have access to the exit. A few moments later the train began to move once again, and I found myself recognizing the stops that I had seen only a few minutes prior. Thinking about my interview, which was beginning in half an hour, I was on the train going no-where- or to be more exact, in circles and by myself. To my pleasant surprise the train stopped once again and I saw a platform where I could get off.  

Once off the train I asked for directions, and was told that the stop I was looking had been under renovation for some time. I decided the heck with the subway; I'll get off and get a cab. Well...New Yorkers will tell you that this is not an easy ordeal when it rains, but hello...I'm from the sunny south California....how was I suppose to know that? So I got my umbrella out and began to walk. In about five minutes, my feet were soaking wet, my pants were drenched, and I was running out of time. I decided to stop a girl on the street and ask for directions once again. With a smile on her face she announced that I was going the wrong way and told me to follow her, thanking my lucky stars I obliged. Trying to keep up with her pace I found myself lightly jogging.

Entering the Dow Jones building soaked flushed, and excited all at the same time, I walked into the lobby to find security on every corner. Stopping to catch my breath, I checked my watch. I was two minutes early.

Four Minutes Of Fame

The four - minute segment was over before I could blink.  Jon the interviewer was a sweet heart, and looking at me he understood that I was worried and did all that he could to put me to ease. After all was said and done, I gave him a hug and hurried across the street to Century 21, to buy a dry pair of socks.  I ran to the subway to catch a train, got in bed, and vowed to never complain about my "suburbia" - San Diego, where the sun always shines and public transportation is something you only see in the movies.



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