Apples, Honey, and Outlook Invites
Last week was Rosh Hashanah. We welcomed the new year by having friends over for dinner and indulging in the classic holiday meal of slow cooked brisket in a plum sauce that was truly to die for. One of our closest family friends has spent years perfecting a homemade bread recipe, which we enjoyed alongside Zomick’s egg challah. Toasted in the oven, the challah was surprisingly good, even competing with homemade, when you have not had it in a while, though much sweeter than most. I wore my green suede yarmulke that I have had since my bar mitzvah, and of course we dipped apples in honey to start a sweet new year.
The next day we dressed for temple. I wore one of my favorite blue jackets, a pair of jeans, and my lucky brown loafers. Returning to the place where I went to Hebrew school as a child felt nostalgic. The lighting, the singing, and the sound of the shofar made me smile. The rabbi is very modern, active on social media, and even likes some of my posts on Instagram. At the same time it was bittersweet. The congregation was mostly older, friends of my parents, while people my age seemed to be missing. It reminded me how I missed those few times I went to the Chabad in SoHo, which was filled with young people in their twenties and thirties.
Later in the week I went into the city for the weekend and stayed at my grandparents on the Upper East Side. It was a relief to pause the health PR job search. I had dinner at Amber Sushi with my twin cousins, a spot my grandparents and parents used to take us to as kids. One cousin is beginning his career as a paralegal investigator with hopes of law school, while his sister is pursuing fashion design. That night I reconnected with a fraternity friend I had not seen in years, which led me to rejoin an AEPi Facebook and LinkedIn chat. While walking around the city, a few people from NYU and those chats even stopped me to tell me they read my blog and said Shana Tova, which made me smile.
Somewhere between my grandparents’ apartment and Central Park I made a detour for a six dollar and fifty cent iced coffee. Feeling cocky, I tried to drive my wheelchair with one hand and balance the coffee in the other. That is when I spotted a woman in a Pilates outfit, cute and confident, the type that turns your head when you have been hunched down in the Berkshires without a date for too long. I got flustered, lost my grip, and the iced coffee went all over the sidewalk. She picked it up, tossed it out for me three blocks later, and when we made eye contact again, we both cracked up, fully acknowledging what had happened. Honestly, I should have spun it into a positive, made a joke, maybe even gotten her number. Instead, I walked away minus six dollars and fifty cents.
The next evening I had dinner again with my cousin, the investigator, and another cousin who started a bag company. We ate outside at La Pecora Bianca on the Upper East Side, where the café tables felt almost Parisian. I pitched him an idea for a bag with a QR code that could link to my blog and resume for networking. He said he would look into it.
On Sunday I grabbed coffee in Central Park, which was crowded with runners but alive with dogs and families. A cousin I met in the park told me about her tough breakup, her science research, and the exciting weddings her brothers have coming up. I filled her in on my dog Roxy, upcoming interviews, and my plan to be back in the city soon. Later that day I met up with a woman I had been talking to on Hinge. She was Orthodox and in her mid thirties, while my practice of religion is limited to the high holidays, the occasional Shabbat, and some traditions like Passover. We had coffee, walked through the park, and I practiced my conversation skills. Later she told me I was not what she was looking for, which was disappointing, but it also made me think about joining a synagogue in New York or getting a membership at the Met. I want to invest in things outside my blog, and those feel like strong options.
On Monday, reality hit in a very different way. I went to get fitted for a new wheelchair with more back support as my posture changes over time. The trip was supposed to be a simple three hour ride from Port Authority to Worcester, but the bus lift broke. At first I thought it would be a quick fix, but after two hours of waiting, it became clear things were not moving. Passengers were stuck in their seats, growing restless, and I was trapped inside with no way out. Finally the police and fire department arrived. A policeman put on gloves and asked if he could carry me off the back of the bus. I thanked everyone for their patience as he lifted me down the narrow aisle and into the open air. Then came the chair. The firemen strapped it to a crane and lowered it down, but as it touched the pavement the chair came smashing to the ground. A machine worth thousands of dollars slammed onto the street. Thank God it was under insurance and, miracle of miracles, the engine still turned on.
This was the third time I have gotten stuck on a Peter Pan bus. At this point they should be giving me a free pass for life. They need to follow the example of the MTA, which is installing new elevators in the subway every day and where workers are always helpful. Worcester was supposed to be a straightforward destination that morning, but by the time the whole ordeal ended it felt like I had traveled through an obstacle course just to get there. It was not the new chair fitting I had in mind, but it became a reminder of how fragile and resilient independence can be all at once.
The silver lining is that my caretaker team is finally coming together. After years of interviews I know my story, what I need, and how to spot red flags. As I prepare to return to New York, I have realized the best system is a team of two, one male caretaker and one female caretaker. I feel energized about going back, knowing that with my grandparents’ place as a home base I will have the support I need until I find my own.
Through it all I have tried to stay grounded with daily walks for my dog Roxy, though I had to skip two of them this week for important interviews. It reminded me that building a career requires tradeoffs, but also that keeping consistency matters. As I head into the new year, I feel rooted in tradition, focused on my goals, and ready for the next steps in both life and work.
