Feels Like Old Times

Ten years ago this month, I packed up my mix tapes and my Abercrombie & Fitch tank tops and moved to New York City.  (A decade ago.  Jeez.)  I lived in NYU housing that first summer, in a dank room the size of a twin bed, and I spent my days taking ballet class at ABT, then rushing to the Port Authority to catch a bus out to New Jersey, where I had a part-time job working for my uncle. 

I got home before 6 every evening, so I'd wander the streets of the Village or go to a museum, and then I'd scribble in my journal and read until I fell asleep.  On the weekends, I hung out with my brother (who was the only person I knew here, and who was generous enough to subsidize my margarita consumption), browsed The Strand for half-price paperbacks, pored over the Sunday Times, and passed hours on end taking in the spectacle of Washington Square. 

I had no responsibilities, no money (at times I would buy dinner with pocket change or pay for subway tokens with a credit card because I had 72 cents in my bank account), and, aside from my brother, no friends.  But, oh, how I loved it.  Every day was saturated with new experiences.  I was so...thrilled to be living here, and every little thing that happened was, well, so New York.  Sometimes I'm embarrassed at how merrily I walked around, wide-eyed and grinning (which, by the way, made me a constant target for unwanted male attention; I positively oozed "new in town"); but other times, I miss that sense of unbridled enthusiasm for every moment, every detail (and, uh, the no responsibilities -- can we go back to that?  please?). 

I remember one Saturday that summer, I was on the subway en route to the Frick (still one of my favorite museums -- at the time, I couldn't wait to see it because it had the Vermeers that Susanna Kaysen wrote about in Girl, Interrupted), this group of guys got on and sang "Country Roads," and I sat enraptured and started to tear up, and I gave the guys ten dollars (TEN!  I probably couldn't eat that night!). I even wrote about the scene in my journal that night. 

Now, I'm a little fed up with the subway performances (in the stations, the musicians are often excellent, and I dig those -- you have to audition to get a license to busk on the platforms -- but the people who get on the trains are...not so good, and mostly these days they're kids selling candy or blaring a boom box and doing a break-dancing routine.  Feh).  And I sure as hell never give anyone ten bucks on the train anymore.   

So you can all share in the almost cringe-inducing enthusiasm I had for my new hometown, here's an excerpt from my diary from May 1997 (the over-writing, oh my WORD -- I blush), with my comments in brackets:

"Yesterday was my first day in this mythical city [AAAH!  Mythical!  How original.] ... Within a block radius of my dorm, there's several theaters, hundreds of bars [hundreds?  really?  that's a lot of bars], a great church [DUDE.  I was MARRIED at that church six years later!] and lots of markets. ... On Bleecker Street, I was treated to some entertainment by a man in a velvet cat costume, riding a velocipede equipped with a full-sized harp.  He was playing the accordion and fishing for cash with a bowl on the end of a pole.  [I still remember that so vividly, too.  Haven't ever seen that guy again.]  While I was observing this display of the eccentricities of the human spirit [JAYSUS -- pare down that prose, sister], I saw Matthew Modine and his daughter on the street."

It goes on, but I'll spare you. 

The thing is, even though I'm older and more jaded and sometimes fed up with it all, this city still has the ability to take my breath away.  A couple of weeks ago, I was riding home from work via the car service, and I gazed out the window as we slid up the FDR.  The lights on the bridges reflected, shimmering, on the water, and the Pepsi-Cola sign glowed red across the river.  People strolled along the East River promenade, walking dogs and holding hands.  The Chrysler Building towered above 42nd Street, its Art Deco spire lit in white.  As the car surged up the Drive, I wiped a tear from my cheek.   

Comments

[magpie]

That's a nice paean to New York. I know how you feel.

[lizgwiz]

I never had the guts to actually move to New York, but I vividly remember my first trip there. My god, the excitement. I never wanted to leave. It IS magical.

[jonniker]

I get that way about New York when I'm there. It's all so...overwhelming.

"observing this display of the eccentricities of the human spirit"

HEH. I love it.

[claire]

It really can be a beautiful place. I love how you wrote about it your first couple of months. It makes you appreciate the city all over again.

[blakspring]

Oh Ish, it's like you took my simple thoughts and feelings about New York and made them so eloquent and touching. I too feel jaded and fed up with NYC sometimes now that I'm older, but I will always love this city. Thank you for giving me a beautiful trip down my own memory lane.

[Lia]

I'm resisting the urge to burst into song.

It's truly an incredible city. Even when it's incredibly annoying.