It is truly amazing to me that I have been here for a year now. At what seemed the drop of a hat, I threw my life into laundry baskets, cardboard boxes and my loyal little car, pioneered up the southern inland route of California and settled it into musty corners of my dads garage, while the clothes, toiletries and trinkets deemed elite enough to make the trek across the country with me were pressed into a tightly packed suitcase to accompany me to where I transplanted myself alone and alone, the early morning hours of May 16, 2010.
As the cliches go, the first days of living in the residence seem ages ago, and yet the whirlwind of the year has passed as though it were a month. In this time I have secured a studio apartment, worth my savings account, right arm and leg, firstborn child and a signature in blood. I have wrestled with monthly bills and payments after setting up electricity, internet, Netflix and supporting a little girl in India. I have taken in, and sadly let out, two cats over the course of a hot, humid summer. I've called in and dealt with the super for things as trivial as opening that stupid window, and as meaningful as replacing a faulty light fixture in the bathroom after 3 months of darkness.
I've visited gospel and baptist and non-denominational churches, joined yoga studios, volleyball leagues and ballet classes. I went out on a limb by going to Meet Ups, picnics in Central Park, and day trips to Atlantic City. I've acquired a winter wardrobe that more than doubles anything I knew in the first 23 years of my life, and mastered the art of walking in the snow. I've been on first, and second, and third dates, celebrated holidays with my NYC "family" of my college friends, and brought in the New Year in Brooklyn. I've watched a friends live shows in various locations on several occasions.
Where once I carried a guidebook with me at all times, as well as a printed map of Manhattan sequestered into its namely neighborhoods, I have now memorized specific cross streets of almost all the notable landmarks, know the routes of all the subway trains by name, and understand direction and destinations of subways simply by their colors. I know the best routes to chosen points throughout the five boroughs, and can tell you if that apartment on Craig's List sounds like a good deal or you're getting ripped off.
And despite all of this, can you believe I still feel like I haven't totally experienced New York City?? There's still so much left to do! Museums I haven't seen, the Chelsea Art Galleries I haven't visited, the summer festivals I never made it to.
Many people ask me "How long are you planning on staying in New York?" or "Have you ever thought of moving back to California?" and the truth is... yes, yes I have. Yes, there have been days and nights of loneliness, of poverty, of frustration. Waiting too long to ride a too-crowded subway... scrimping too hard to pay a rent too high. Outwearing old clothes, passing on activities, missing out on California weddings. But while cheaper rent, a higher net income, and closer proximity to the life I always knew sounds like such a calming and familiar remedy, it also immediately seems boring. I guess all that "trying to make it" stuff is part of lure, part of the reward. It all makes sense to throw so much money at rent, if it means I get to live in the Big Apple. Reverting back to homegrown lifestyle, where different things were simpler, where my money would go further... it's just not worth leaving the dynamic, vibrant and addictive city here. At least not yet.
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