Paint My Spirit Gold

What. A. Week.

As I’m sure many of you reading this can't help but thinking after this week, this world is in a constant state of flux. People are awe-inspiring one day by showing their beauty and heart-breaking the next when revealing their malice. I began my week like most lately, as a New New Yorker, trying to maneuver through the crowds, avoiding touching anything with my hands on the subway and taking in the tall buildings on my walk through Rock Center to work. Then, I saw the news in Boston. Having lived in Texas when most other attacks like this have happened, this was a different experience for me. The tension felt higher here, obviously because of past threats and realities. It hit much closer to home this time, literally and figuratively, especially since one of my best friends lives one block from the marathon’s finish line. I realized I’m now a citizen of this big city and was hoping for comfort for those who were harmed in another.

I became a Texan again on Wednesday night, after watching footage of the explosion in West, Texas. I pictured myself near there, driving to Austin again as I had so many times before. I felt like the girl in the small town again, unable to imagine such an event happening to those that I love.

Realizing I can never begin to make sense of it all or try to understand why things happen the way they do, I see now what many others have already figured out: nothing can stop the spirit unless you allow it. I saw footage of Bostonians getting together and doing anything and everything they could to help. I saw friends on Facebook posting messages and getting groups together to drive down to West, Texas to offer their support. I witnessed all kinds of people in all types of places uniting to prove that kindness always prevails.

I think Mr. Rogers put it best: “When I was a boy and I would see scary things in the news, my mother would say to me, 'Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping.' To this day, especially in times of disaster, I remember my mother's words and I am always comforted by realizing that there are still so many helpers--so many caring people in this world."

Love you Schmem. I'm so happy that my favorite Bostonian is safe and sound.

Til next time.

My First Year in New York City: A Reflection

Hello blog world! As I was waiting for the subway on my way home from work today, my wheels were turning trying to think of an interesting first blog post. I was standing at a very specific spot on the platform, as I do every day to and from work. There’s a trick I’ve picked up to make the commute just a bit easier. There are certain spots at every platform that ensure you will be at the exact spot on the train to put you directly in front of the exit at your destination station, thus avoiding the bottleneck at the turnstile to get out. Every person I’ve travelled with on the subway knows of these little gems. It’s become just another part of my daily routine. It was then I realized I’ve learned quite a bit in the last year about living in New York City, and I would like to share this with you!

To be honest, when I first arrived here in the city, I was scared. I no longer had a car, I needed a new job, and I had no idea what in the world I was going to do with myself. Moving here was starting over, as if I hadn’t been living on my own since high school. There was something about it that made me feel like I had to re-learn how to live like an adult. To sum up how I was feeling, well, here:

My first challenges in the beginning weeks weren’t too bad: I learned the amount of groceries my mind thinks I can carry home from the store is vastly different than that of my arms. I cleaned my laundry elsewhere, and learned that it’s very important to never, ever drop your clean sock on the ground. I learned to not be afraid of every person that looked at me. My landlady and her friends in particular intimidated me. Every day I would come home from work, and she and her 10 other Italian lady-friends would be sitting outside our apartment building chain-smoking and gossiping. I, being as shy as could be, could barely muster more than a “Hihowareyouokbye” before running into our apartment and hiding, thinking they would surely say I’m just another weird out-of-towner trying to make it in the city to ease some quarter-life crisis.

Then, things got easier. I realized people here are nice! I got a job in a real estate office in Midtown Manhattan. I met more nice people. I watched movies in the park with these people. I went to dinners with these people. These people became my friends! From there, things were wonderful. New York City is wonderful. The parks, the sights, the culture, the museums, the constant movement, the FOOD (oh man…the food!), the music, the hidden holes in the walls, our revolving door of local friends and those visiting us from afar, the hum of the city, all of it…wonderful!

I slowly began to ease up. I enjoyed seeing my landlady and her friends. Seriously, they’re amazing and so funny. I should create a future blog dedicated to the stereotypical and hilarious things they say; too bad I can’t convey an Italian/Brooklyn accent in writing. I dropped off my laundry to Ed, our favorite laundromat owner, who would return my clothes to me clean and folded. I said good morning to everyone I saw during my walk to the subway, and they smiled and said hello back! I grew accustomed to the weird, awkward and strange. I laughed at the complete hilarity that comes out of people’s mouths (a future blog about the homeless man’s thoughts in the subway at my office will happen), I admired the bold fashion choices others were making and I learned that New York City is not about fitting in at all. It’s quite the opposite, and it is so stinkin’awesome.

 

Whew that's better! So, here I am, one year later, reflecting on it and all that I’ve learned and become. I’m such a better person for it, and I cannot wait to see what this city brings me tomorrow.

Til next time!