My parents and boyfriend helped with the move. Dad drove the U-Haul up the NJ turnpike with me riding shotgun. Mom and the boy followed in a car. We’d done “moving day” many times before, but never quite like this.
Our little furniture dollies were no match for the maze of a pre-war apartment building. We carried and maneuvered furniture through many doorways and obstacles. There was the heavy magnetic gate to the building courtyard that wouldn't stay open, maneuvering around the fountain to the main building entrance, crowding on and off the tiny Otis elevator with double doors (it was just big enough for about 2 people with a stack of boxes, but at least we had an elevator!!), and finally down the skinny hallway of my railroad-style apartment.
As my belongings accumulated inside my new home, no one could quite believe or accept it. Not even me. Mom kept asking “This is what you want? You sure you want to live here?” My boyfriend echoed, “You don’t have to do this. You can come back to NJ with us. Find a job there...” Outwardly, I assured them I would be fine. Yet as the day proceeded and the finality of my decision became increasingly imminent, the dialogue in my head was anything but self-assured. “Omg. This is actually happening. I'm leaving everyone I love. What have I gotten myself into??? What have I done??”
I had already been “living” in the city for two weeks. Those first two weeks were so much fun. Every day I stepped outside, directly into the bustle of the city. Endless possibilities at my fingertips. I could go anywhere, do anything, eat anything, any time of day. I could grab cupcakes on my lunch break. It didn't feel real; it was like being on vacation every day. I hadn't yet realized that this was where I lived.
Yet, as soon as the U-Haul drove away with the three people I loved most in this world, I burst into tears.
It finally dawned on me.
I was all alone in a brand new city, and I knew absolutely no one.
I had this crazy belief that everyone should spend at least one year in New York. Why? City living is a fast-track to self discovery. It forces you to grow up, show up, and toughen up.
Amidst the shadows of the concrete jungle, you are forced to discover yourself - or create yourself. There's no other way to survive here. You find out very quickly what you are made of, what you can and will tolerate, and what you're most deeply passionate about.
Our little furniture dollies were no match for the maze of a pre-war apartment building. We carried and maneuvered furniture through many doorways and obstacles. There was the heavy magnetic gate to the building courtyard that wouldn't stay open, maneuvering around the fountain to the main building entrance, crowding on and off the tiny Otis elevator with double doors (it was just big enough for about 2 people with a stack of boxes, but at least we had an elevator!!), and finally down the skinny hallway of my railroad-style apartment.
As my belongings accumulated inside my new home, no one could quite believe or accept it. Not even me. Mom kept asking “This is what you want? You sure you want to live here?” My boyfriend echoed, “You don’t have to do this. You can come back to NJ with us. Find a job there...” Outwardly, I assured them I would be fine. Yet as the day proceeded and the finality of my decision became increasingly imminent, the dialogue in my head was anything but self-assured. “Omg. This is actually happening. I'm leaving everyone I love. What have I gotten myself into??? What have I done??”
I had already been “living” in the city for two weeks. Those first two weeks were so much fun. Every day I stepped outside, directly into the bustle of the city. Endless possibilities at my fingertips. I could go anywhere, do anything, eat anything, any time of day. I could grab cupcakes on my lunch break. It didn't feel real; it was like being on vacation every day. I hadn't yet realized that this was where I lived.
Yet, as soon as the U-Haul drove away with the three people I loved most in this world, I burst into tears.
It finally dawned on me.
I was all alone in a brand new city, and I knew absolutely no one.
I had this crazy belief that everyone should spend at least one year in New York. Why? City living is a fast-track to self discovery. It forces you to grow up, show up, and toughen up.
In the absence of comforts and luxuries such as space, silence and sunlight, you develop coping strategies. Some are healthy and some aren't, but they all reveal a little more about yourself.
Amidst the shadows of the concrete jungle, you are forced to discover yourself - or create yourself. There's no other way to survive here. You find out very quickly what you are made of, what you can and will tolerate, and what you're most deeply passionate about.
What would my story be? I was about to find out.
Comments
Post a Comment