This is the theme for the summer, so while I apologize…get used to it.

Why do all the jobs I want have to be in the city where it’s so hard to live? I’ve had friends tell me “Oh you HAVE to stay in NYC! That’s where all the writers are,” as if that is a good reason to stay. Do I really want to join the army of broke struggling writers, fighting their way towards cynicism and success? Like it’s some sort of requisite “character building”?

I personally just can’t believe that the world needs another semi-hip 20something New York writer producing edgy narrative nonfiction while paying $900 to live in someone’s dining room and eating roasted mice for dinner. That market is saturated. Can’t you picture the job interview with the universe?

“Oh, hmm,” the universe would say, “I see looking at your resume that you pride yourself on your witty writing style and frank narratives. Interesting. Ever heard of Megan Daum? Oh, I see you also have some editorial skills and an affinity for bitching about apostrophes. Great, great. Looks like you’ve got a diverse family background and weird hair. Right. Yeah, I’ve never seen that before.” (You didn’t know the universe could be a sarcastic punkass? the universe has spent time in Manhattan, too.)

“Well, we’ve got a lot of those positions, but they’re all filled right now. If you’d like to intern for a while, we can’t pay you,” the universe will continue, “But if you prove yourself (and someone else either dies or burns out, leaving their position open) we can offer you $18k/year to start. …What’s that? No, we don’t offer relocation assistance. You’ll need to find your own roach-infested efficiency in Brooklyn. I hear the going rate is roughly $1k/month?”

My father gave me a copy of the Tao te Ching, and I’m trying to remind myself that the harder I fight this decision, struggling through it and making pro/con color-coded flow charts, the less likely I am to find the right choice for me. The best decisions of my life have always been instinctual and natural. I have to resist the urge to muscle my way through this one.

In other words, I can’t MAKE this decision. It has to make me.