Farewell, Big Apple

I’m not sure when it started, but ever since I can remember, I knew that I wanted to live in New York City. Blame it on my upstate New York heritage; always longing for something more exciting. Blame it on my ridiculous Broadway obsession starting in my teens, or perhaps the cliche Sex and the City drive that most girls have after they beg their parents for the box set of DVDs. Whatever the reason, I always felt that once I got to NYC I would be “complete”. I tried to convince myself that I belonged in New York, it wasn’t just some pipe dream-NO! I was truthfully a lost child of Manhattan,misplaced in suburbia but someday I would find my way back to the mother ship. The older I got, the more I started strategizing exactly how I would get to the big city. Would I try my hand at singing in the big city? Would I go to college there? Would I move on a whim and somehow “make it”, find my soul mate on the upper west side and live blissfully yet fiercely as I proudly wore the “I’m a New Yorker” badge for all to see. 

Well, about a  year ago I received the news that I would be moving to New York City- Harlem in fact. Not the ideal location I was hoping for, but hey! It was New York and I would never spend any time at my apartment anyway. I’ve been lucky enough to have good roommates, a great job and amazing friends. It was a fantastic 11 months  in Manhattan, and I am so grateful for the experience.

So why am  I leaving? In April of this year, I started to feel that I needed to get away from New York. Too tired, too poor, too frustrated, too exhausted to carry on. When I would visit friends and family elsewhere, my eyes would water at the site of the suburbs, the trees, the simple joy of putting groceries, beach chairs, shopping bags IN THE TRUNK OF A CAR.  The affordability of everything in other cities blew me away. During a night out in Binghamton, NY, I argued with my friends about taking a cab. It was three fucking dollars!!!! How were we NOT taking this cab!!?!??!?!?!??  That was a luxury to me! I'm still bitter about that.

Little voices started whispering in my ear. “It’s time to try something new, you’re young, and you need a break”. Were the voices right? Perhaps they were, but that did not make it any easier to accept. I hadn’t even lived here a year and yet I needed a break. I couldn't do it; I’m not cut out for this. The cold hard truth was, I had been fantasizing for years about how this city would be my redeeming quality, defining me, solving all my problems, putting a fabulous label on me.

In reality, living in New York means nothing unless YOU shape your experience. Just because you live in Manhattan, or Brooklyn, or Queens, or the Bronx, that does not mean you are fabulous. It’s just your address. There are millions of people who live on this island who have never had the luxury of riding in a cab, going out to eat at a new “hot” restaurant, or seeing a Broadway show. Manhattan is diverse-yes, but it is also divided. Depending on your income, NYC can  either be your playground or you can be its prisoner. This isn’t meant to be a social commentary on the state of economic society, merely an account from my perspective as a poor 23 year old girl living in Harlem but trying to living as if she was from Chelsea.  Not to say that I am ashamed of my neighborhood, not at all, but I found myself drawn to the shiny light of the Lower East Side, Upper West Side, and Chelsea area where the possibilities are endless. 

Here is the conundrum: how can you fit into those worlds with the resources you have? As hard as I tried, my clothes never looked like the other girls, I took the subway instead of cabs and my nights out involved bars with no covers, no dress codes, and no door men. Every day I watched as the other girls got off the subway at 72^nd street, 86^th street,  and 103^rd street with their Tory Birch flats, Chloe bags, and Rag and Bone flowing tops, while I shuffled about in my worn-out sensible shoes and mopped my sweaty brow with my wrinkled cardigan.

I didn’t understand how they did it. How were they able to carry on that lifestyle? It was less about their outfits and more about their demeanor; these girls had this ease about them, as if there were no troubles, life was just one fabulous adventure after the other. However, for me, I felt as if I carried my muscles with endless tension, tired and stressed. Nothing was easy for me. My clothes were strictly Old Navy, my groceries were not from Whole Foods by any means, and  I wore my worries on my face at all times.

New York is all about who you know. Your connections can help you get anything in this city, but being new, you have to figure it out on your own. This is exciting, scary and difficult. You do your research; reading articles about where to go, who to ask and who to trust.  You learn from your mistakes (which person was rude to you, which person made you cry, who ripped you off etc.), you also learn that some people will flat out ignore you, because they can. Developing thick skin is a given, and it’s actually a blessing in disguise. You stop caring about certain things, or dwelling on other people’s bad vibes; you become a lot feistier,  and a lot harder. Even after you leave the city, you still carry the aggression, the “don’t fuck with me” mantra.

 I’m enough to handle as it is, without the added attitude that naturally develops after 3 months of city living. Nothing comes easy in New York; dinner reservations, apartments, jobs, relationships.  After 9 months, I became tired of being on the defense all the time; I wanted things to be effortless, like they were back home, or in Rochester, or anywhere else.

It’s like this city is an organic being made of steel, colors, sounds, lights, smells, elements, and danger. This obstacle course that you have to navigate. Others cities don’t feel that way to me.  It was as if other cities welcomed me and assisted me on my journey to nirvana.

Therefore, the little voices kicked in; “It’s time to try something new”, “Is it time to for a change of pace”.How could this be?! What are they talking about?! Why isn’t a fabulous NYC life as a 20-something what I thought it would be? Why have I failed?!

Did I fail or did I realize something at the right time? Perhaps my New York experience is leading me to the pivotal point in my mid-twenties. Maybe this year was the rest stop on the road to what I am truly meant to be doing. I can’t fault New York City for that, can I? NYC showed me one extreme; exposed me to the pinnacle of what the human experience can be, and I suppose I took that and decided I was ready to become exposed to something  else.

As much as I wish, I could be the girl who moved to New York, found a great job, great apartment and never left- that will not be my story. The City and I have our own epic love story that will involve interludes and personal development in between our love fests. We are on a break right now. It’s time that I pursue other cities to be entirely sure that NYC is the one.

So here I am, in Washington, DC. I've bee here for exactly one week. I strangely feel at peace. I have a big girl job, a beautiful apartment in a neighborhood that feels like home. Only time will tell how this pans out. The good news is; since I’ve moved to a town where I know virtually no one!  I will have an abundance of time to re-start my blog! “And I Can’t Help But Wonder: DC Edition”. Stay tuned folks.

Scrimmage

Practice will make perfect, as perfect as it can be. That’s why we shouldn't settle. We have already established that my roommates and I do not agree when it comes to men, dating, sex and relationships. Often times I find myself saying  “Are you fucking kidding me?!”  Women LOVE trying to “make it work”. This is called the dating "game", lets not worry about hurting people's feelings, you gotta be in it to win it.

Dating is like a game of flag  football. You don’t exactly get to tackle, just snatch the little flags off your opponent. Lets think of them as little “red flags”/deal breakers. You get it. However many flags you rip off, indicate whether the guy or girl is right for you.

The purpose of dates 1-5 I believe, is like a series of games. Feeling out your opponent,  and evaluating where he is both strong and weak in a variety of areas. Now let me say something about red flags; they are there for a reason. It's an indicator of something that you may not find adorable, fascinating, or sexy. Red fags are the turn offs , they make you cringe, feel awkward, piss you off, or whatever. You are allowed to listen to these emotions and act accordingly. More often than not, we refuse to listen to our instincts or count how many red fags we have ripped off our opponent.

Yes, its true that we all want a successful relationship without much effort, but the more you ignore what you don’t like, the more you have to settle with it.

About a month ago, I finally had a really great date. You know like a GREAT DATE. His name was Johnathan, I saw him on OK Cupid and my jaw dropped. So I decided to message him, in the vain hope that he would reply. He did! And after  about a week or so of online chit chat, he asked me out on a date to a wine bar. I was excited for my second real date in NYC, feeling like maybe my cliche Sex and the City fantasies would come true.  

We talked about everything, it felt comfortable and low key.  Blame it on his thick body, blame it on his facial hair, or maybe the wine, or maybe the fact that he paid for the wine, but by the end of our first date (a.k.a Scrimmage #1) I hadn’t snatched any of his red flags away. There were no glaring warning signs or annoying character traits, that bothered me. We all come out winners. High five.

 We decided to go out again and I spent the next week, day dreaming about my new “Winter Boyfriend” Johnathan.  Floating on a cloud and celebrating the accomplishment of having my Greatest First Date. Ever. Even his method of asking me out again was perfect, it was almost scary.

Johnathan set up our second date, which was to involve a daytime stroll through Central Park on a beautiful autumn afternoon. We were  supposed  to meet at one of the fountains by the row boats. I was beyond excited for my date aka Scrimmage #2. I didn’t want to get my hopes up but I just couldn’t  help myself. I spent hours getting ready, thinking about my outfit days ahead of time. 

By 2pm Sunday afternoon, reality hit. I was almost 30 minutes late. For some reason I could not find my way in the park. I was running around, sweating and sending apology texts. When I finally reached Johnathan,  he didn’t look like the same guy from THE GREAT FIRST DATE EVER. He now seemed, nervous and awkward, even a little cold (RIPS RED FLAG). He even went in for the awkward kiss on the cheek/hug combination as our greeting...ugh . As I awkwardly caught my breath, we awkwardly chatted by the one of the fountains. I didn’t understand what was going wrong this time! We went from talking about our deepest insecurities,  to talk about his deep fryer????? Oh no no no (RIPS RED FLAG).

I felt like I was doing most of the talking; thinking of new ways to ask about mundane bullshit. It was time for us to change locations, but as we got up to leave , a musician asked us if we wanted to hear a song; “Sure why not” I thought to myself, at least it would fill up some of the silence, but before I could give an enthusiastic “YES!”’; Johnathan cut me off and said “WE WERE JUST LEAVING”. Wait…what? You really had to diss this Central Park musician? It’s a minute long show you jack ass and all we have to do is give him a dollar at the end. (RIPS RED FLAG). This is actually a deal breaker for all men. Being rude to street musicians,  or homeless people is a no no. Don’t treat them like they are less than, be respectful.

Johnathan was on thin ice….he had already lost 3 flags in about a 20 minute period. Game 2 had just started. I wanted to bail already, but I decided that I had just spent 3 hrs getting ready and had initially been excited, so I told myself I should  still give it a go anyway.  The rest of the afternoon consisted of awkwardly walking through the park, looking at street performers in silence, standing under trees in silence, me looking at my phone, and me  acting like a cold bitch. (About 3 more flags had been ripped off at this point). I almost vomited in my mouth wen he started bitching about how the Central Park horses smelled. Leaving the fucking horses alone Johnathan! (RIPS RED FLAG). After about an hour and a half of this mess, we decided to end the afternoon with of a cup of coffee and meaningless chit chat about cooking and occasionally people watching.

As the date came to  close I couldn’t believe what had changed. I had ripped off basically all of his flags, and I’m sure he had ripped some of mine off as well. It just wasn’t working. Who knows what  had changed in the past week, but I knew he wasn’t going to be anything more than a good first date and a disappointing second date. The next day I wondered what I was going to do; what if he wanted to go out again?! How do I end this things? Well, fortunately we both mutually agreed we werent'  good match, e-mails were exchanged and no hard feelings were had.

Sure, we could have given it another date, but often times we try to make things work instead of finding people that actually work for us. Sure, it was nice having a guy pay for all my shit and take me to a nice place. He has his life together (bonus) and had an apt on the upper east side (check plus!), but if you can't stand the person with all the benefits, then whats the point? I say, pay attention to the red flags and the deal  breakers;  they matter, because if you try to ignore them or try to fix them, you’ll end up losing the game altogether.