The New Yorker

Confession: I have started this post over a dozen times, I've considered disregarding it all together, because the sentiments I hope to convey are far too important at which to fail. Oftentimes giving up is easier than trying, but I also don't want perfection to be the enemy of done. Amy March managed to eloquently express my greatest fear in life "I want to be great, or nothing". And I do want this post to be great, because the subject deserves it to be so. But should that be at the cost of sharing nothing at all? I'll answer my own rhetorical question, no. 

Labor Day marked a very special anniversary for me. Unfortunately for this chronically single girl, it wasn't one of the romantic persuasion, but rather the date at which my greatest dream was realized. Seven years ago, I moved to New York. To some, this might seem a trivial accomplishment, people move every day, all over the world after all. But to know me is to understand why this was so significant. 

I've had a lot of dreams in my lifetime; to win an Academy Award, to marry :insert no less than twenty A-list male celebrities names:, to go to law school, to go to medical school, to write for Vogue, to write for SNL, to pull an Elizabeth Gilbert and Eat Pray Love my way through Europe. The list goes on and on. But only one dream remained, to live in Manhattan. 

Every December my mother and I would make our annual pilgrimage to New York, clad in patent leather and tartan plaid, to worship at the alter of The Radio City Rockettes and the towering Rockefeller City Christmas Tree. I remember, as the glittering skyline disappeared over the horizon, feeling profoundly homesick. I was leaving the place where my soul felt most alive, the place I was meant to be. 

Serendipity is the only term to describe the series of circumstances that lead to this dream becoming a reality and just two years after graduating college, I bid a fond farewell to my hometown and trepidatiously embarked on my new journey. 

Seven years might feel like an arbitrary number. About a decade ago, I catalogued away a quote the origin of which is totally unknown at this point, that one can official deem themselves a “New Yorker” after inhabiting the island for no less than seven years.

I wanted to make sure that this year in particular I paid appropriate homage to a city that so desperately needs and deserves it. Lions are common mascots of libraries to symbolize the wisdom held within the walls. The New York Public Library is home to two of the most iconic felines and during The Great Depression Mayor LaGuardia bestowed the names Patience and Fortitude upon the pair. He did so because he believed these to be the qualities New Yorkers needed to survive the dark time. A sentiment that is just applicable to the city this year. New York is a city of change, of adaptation, of innovation and resilience. Just four months ago, my heart broke for my home, but now I have not a lingering doubt that it will weather this storm. 

I’ve dedicated a lot of this space to my reflection of how much the city has changed through Covid. I’ve read all the articles declaring “New York is over”. I’ve witnessed dozens of moving trucks overflowing with the contents of fleeing residents. It’s undeniable that substantial change is afoot. Which makes this personal milestone all the more poignant. 

Last weekend, I ventured up to Central Park for the first time since the day the earth stood still. It was the greatest gift I could have given myself because it reminded me that all the beauty and spender and magic of Manhattan remains. That as long as residents that love this city as much as I do, endure,  so will its spirit. 

For years, people asked me how long I intended to stay and my response would always be the same "as long as the city will have me". 

And for this official New Yorker, this remains more true than ever.