Reflecting on a year in New York City
On Sunday, I was sitting on my rooftop in my bikini, listening to Taylor Swift and reading In Style Magazine. When I glanced to my left, I saw the Financial District skyline glittering in the sunshine. I was in the shadow of a glass-walled luxury hotel to my right, the balconies holding tourists enamored with their stunning view of Lower Manhattan. As I sat there and looked at my view, I laughed to myself.
How did I ever get so lucky?
In high school, I would read In Style by my parents’ pool and daydream about my future. I wanted to work in fashion or write for a magazine, I wanted to have a close-knit circle of friends and a cute local coffee shop à la “Friends.” I wanted to wear high heels and have a boyfriend and sip cosmopolitans. Those were the abstract dreams of a small-town girl, dreams that were given edges and color and shape through glossy magazines and television shows. They were dreams that seemed out of reach, in the way that happily-ever-after movie romances seem slated to stay forever on the silver screen.
A year ago (!), I moved to New York City. The night before I left, I wrote: “But in my heart, I’m terrified. I actually don’t know if I can make it. It’s the type of fear that, rationally, I know I can twist and turn into a fire, the type that will motivate me. But right now: it’s the kind that’s making me catch my breath and wish I could go back eight months to that yoga class and backward bend into a carefree life in Ubud.”
For the past 365 days, I’ve had a love-hate relationship with this city. Half the time, I can’t imagine living anywhere else: the museums, the restaurants, the festivals, the pure energy and sass and hustle. The other half of the time, I’m overwhelmed and underpaid: it’s expensive, it’s dirty, it’s not a sustainable place to try and build a quality life.
But I’m here. I’ve committed. I have a job and an apartment and a relationship, a local coffee shop and a favorite bar to take out-of-towners and a rooftop. I daydream about getting a dog, about an apartment in Brooklyn with a dishwasher, about long weekends in the Caribbean or jaunts upstate. I have all the little things that make it harder to leave: a color-coordinated closet, a favorite massage place, the most stellar group of girlfriends.
I still consider moving back to Australia, backpacking through South America or chucking it all to live on a sailboat. But the thing is, I’m pretty happy right where I am right now, for right now.
I’m entrenched in my own life, and it’s awesome.
