Growing up, my family vacationed at the Jersey Shore. The summer I was 12, I asked my parents to let me visit Broadway to see The Phantom of the Opera. Because it was a practical day trip, my parents granted my first visit to New York City. I spent the majority of the trip looking up in awe and left inspired by the bright lights and busy streets. I wished as hard as I could that it would be my home one day.
When I was a Senior in college, I no longer believed in wishes but was determined to make this one come true. Over and over I had heard that internships led to jobs, and I became obsessed with finding one in the Big Apple. I didn’t believe that sending an application through the mail was the best way to be successful. So, having a habit of putting myself out there to get what I was after, I perfected my resume, printed 30 copies on nice, thick, white paper, and placed them in envelopes neatly addressed to companies to which I aspired. I once again asked my parents for a trip to NYC, which they begrudgingly granted after I promised to pitch in for the hotel with my server tips. I set out with my resumes in a new cross-shoulder bag, my two cutest, most professional outfits in my carry on, and excitement in my heart.
Over and over I heard that internships led to jobs, and I became obsessed with finding one in the Big Apple.
I arrived to a rain-soaked city and navigated my way from LaGuardia Airport to the Hotel Pennsylvania on 33rd and 7th.
The hotel was massive and had a classic New York vibe - just a little push and shove. My room didn’t have the skyline view I had been imagining and smelled like old dust, but I shrugged and dropped my suitcase. I threw on cutest, most professional outfit #1, and set out to conquer the world.
I had sorta, kinda, maybe, mapped out a plan but had no real knowledge of the subways. My feet quickly began to ache from the pavement as I repeatedly walked the same blocks in frustration. I absolutely regretted my choice of shoe - a kitten heeled boot - that proved quite slippery in the pouring rain.
For weeks leading up to my trip, I had fantasized about waltzing through revolving glass doors to drop off my resume, like a scene from Sex and the City. In these visions, I would be seen immediately and asked to talk through my skills and passions. I thought about this and sighed as I dragged myself from one large building lobby to the next. Each had confusing directories and security guards who had no sympathy for me. I created puddles on floors as I watched my perfectly addressed, hand-delivered envelopes get dropped into bins alongside the resumes of the dozens of candidates who had mailed theirs in.
As the sky darkened, so did my hopes. New York City seemed to laugh at me as it lit up for the evening. I felt somehow farther from my dream than I had in my dorm room in Ohio as I sadly made my way back to the hotel and collapsed.
The next morning, as sunshine poured through the window, a little of my hope renewed. I debated my day as I glared at a pile of undelivered envelopes, now covered in water spots and smeared ink.
I looked up TV production in the hotel room’s giant Yellow Pages, the clear culprit of that old dust smell. I held my breath as I noted a few leads and made a plan to print new generic resumes at Kinkos. I by-passed cutest, most professional outfit #2 for the jeans and cozy sweatshirt meant for the plane ride home. I laced up my Nikes and placed just one addressed envelope in my bag.
I walked fairly aimlessly that day. My focus more on the sights and the people than the addresses I had jotted down that morning. I paced myself, stopped for a coffee, the bookstore, and to snap a picture about every two blocks. I dropped off only a handful of resumes, but somehow felt more successful.
As my day came to a close, I felt drawn to Times Square. The single, addressed envelope in my bag was pulling me to make a second attempt at delivering my resume to 1515 Broadway, the home of MTV. I grew up on MTV, and though the previous day’s defeat nagged at me, a second shot was crucial.
The building has an entrance on both 44th and 45th, so I entered at 45th this time. I wasn’t surprised, when I was met with the same response from security: “If you want an internship, you have to go to the website,” but I still felt crushed. As I walked through the streets below, picking out a couple small souvenirs, I glanced up at MTV studios, wishing there was a way in.
Suddenly, a man approached me. “Hey, you have some money coming out of your pocket.”
I reached to my back pocket and sure enough, a 10-dollar bill was creeping up and over the pocket line. “Oh, thank you!” I exclaimed, my face growing warm.
“Not from around here, are you?” he asked. It wasn’t quite a question.
“No.” My face grew warmer.
“So, what brings you to New York?”
I stammered a little. “I’m... trying to get an internship. I... just tried dropping off my resume…”
“At MTV?” he asked?
“Yeah.”
“I work for MTV. Do you have your resume?”
My flush turned to excitement and my heart beat fast as I opened my bag and pulled out the perfectly addressed envelope - a moment from my internship fantasies finally coming to fruition.
“Oh, you have it addressed and everything.” he said. “Impressive. I’ll be sure to pass this along.”
We chatted for a few minutes as I tried to keep up with him in the crowds. I thanked him as he set off on his way and I was alone again.
I flew home and went back to school, anxiously checking my email between every class. Just two days later, there it was: An email from MTV Internships. Within a week, I had conducted a phone interview. Shortly after, I was back in NYC with a personal interview for an internship with MTV On-Air Promos. I sat with my ankles crossed in my newest, cutest, most professional outfit. My interviewer and now great friend, Alex, flung himself down on a couch, wearing a T-shirt. After a few questions, I was offered an internship to start over the winter break.
The single, addressed envelope in my bag was pulling me to make a second attempt at delivering my resume to 1515 Broadway, the home of MTV.
I moved to NYC with 2 large suitcases full of my cutest, most MTV outfits. I interned 5 days a week and was paid only in college credits. I was the first one in each day. I ran errands around the city, picked up lunches from the lobby, and organized multiple dusty filing cabinets. I left anywhere between 6 and 9pm, after I dropping off the last tapes of the day with fresh new promos for air. It gave me a sense of pride seeing the work on the TV in my cold, basement apartment in Hoboken later in the evenings.
It took a few weeks, but people learned my name. It took a few months, but they realized they could count on me. And when there were no more college credits to earn, they let me stick around for a real paycheck.
Over the next 12 years, I had the career of my dreams. I worked my way from lugging heavy bags of tapes through the city in the snow, to gaining traction as a go-to associate producer with a sharp eye for details, to directing campaigns with billboards on screens in the heart of Times Square.
I saw the man from that fated day in Times Square only once in a crowded elevator. We locked eyes and I thought there was a sense of recognition. I became nervous and didn’t say anything. He got out before me. I’ve always regretted not acknowledging him. Our encounter over a 10-dollar bill created a ripple that led to an unforgettable life experience.
NYC was the love of my life for 10 years. I lived there for 12. At one time, I knew would be a part of the lights, but years later, I wasn’t shining anymore. I went from strutting through Times Square with a song in my heart (and in my headphones), to barking at Hello Kitty who I swear had it out for me, "No, I do not want a picture taken."
When I finally let go of NYC, I told my parents I wanted to move to Portland, OR. I over-explained it to them, thinking they would tell me I was crazy.
To my surprise, they didn’t give me a long parent talk. They simply said, “Ok. You made it in New York. You can make it anywhere.” Then they helped me out with a flight to PDX.
