Welcome to the Stages

So I did something really terrible last week. I honestly didn’t mean to but with the way I’ve been feeling and amongst everything going on it just kind of slipped my mind. I forgot to write a blog to celebrate my three months in New York. I know. I’m a horrible person and should be ashamed of myself. But truthfully, I was too busy trying not to die, celebrating and then packing. (Like right now I should be packing but I have to write this darn blog post sheesh!) Making it 3 whole months in New York is definitely a milestone, but I honestly don’t feel as excited about it as I did making it my first full month. After some reflection, I noticed something very important…I’ve gone through similar emotions before. I always have a cycle that I go through with each move.

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It was a warm, almost autumn day. The trains were running late, teens were yapping loudly and tourists were still walking slowly. All in all it could’ve been classified as a typical New York day. But ah, typical it was not. On the morning the day before I received a phone call. Normally I don’t answer my cell phone at work unless I am on my lunch break. But I was anxiously expecting a call from someone. Anyone really. I stared at the phone for half of a second, picked it up, and ran to the kitchen area for privacy. In about 10 minutes I received the news I had been waiting for:

A Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood

New York City is full of people. Lots and lots of people. Totally shocking right? The absolutely wonderful part of living with all of these people is not having them touch you on the subway, but the abundance of diversity. I grew up in a pretty ethnically diverse city…it was kind of the definition of a “melting pot”. The people I grew up with were mostly biracial and multiracial. My childhood friends definitely looked like the rainbow coalition. I went to college in a not so diverse city. In fact my school had a very small percentage of people of color which was kind of a culture shock for me. As a result, I surrounded myself with people who looked like me. My circle of friends looked less like Fruity Pebbles and more like Coco Pebbles.

I was excited about moving to a more diverse place again to expand the color of my friendships. What I love about the diversity in NYC is that everyone is PROUD to be who they are. They don’t try to blend in, (or assimilate). They are out and out proud that they are different than you. Not just in culture but style as well. It’s so amazing to see. and soak in. I even planned to go to the West Indian Day Parade just to soak up the awesome, but unfortunately it was raining and I didn’t want to soak up the water.

Although all of this cultural diversity is great, I didn’t really comprehend the existence of ethnic enclaves. Of course I heard of China Town and Little Italy, and Spanish Harlem but I guess I honestly thought they were more of a myth. I quickly got over this naive thought during the first time I was searching for apartments.

To Move and Be Moved Pt. 2: House Rules

Although moving is the definition evil, it’s all (sorta, kinda) worth it when you have a place to call your own and to call your home. When you are forced to move to a place you still have to call someone else’s home. Well, the suck factor of moving escalates.

When I moved to the “crash pad” that also happened to be in Brooklyn, I was in the middle of a real “you don’t actually live here” situation. All I expected was a place to sleep, a place to eat, a place to shower and at least one outlet where I could plug up my malfunctioning computer and get to the internet. What I actually walked into was a palace worth over a $1 million, (yes I looked it up), that I’m pretty sure appeared on an HGTV show. I didn’t know it was possible to own four floors in a brownstone in Brooklyn. I also didn’t know I would be in a space with a family of five and a dog. So needless to say this former broke college student and current broke college grad did not quite feel welcomed in this space. The family was nice enough but the fact that in two weeks I never received the WiFi password or  heard from them once I left a Thank You note with some Thank You dollar bills sealed that feeling. I spent most nights out exploring the city, having dinner, searching for WiFi and scouring Craigslist for a place to stay.

To Move and Be Moved Pt. 1: (Un)settling Down

There are very few things that I absolutely, utterly, down in the pit of my soul despise. Actually, that’s not true, there are a lot. But I am only going to name three.

1. Being so hot that my sweat glands turn into faucets and just pour out salty water from my face. (Yes, I realize that was disgusting but I know you now have a great visual).
2. Being abruptly woken up out of my sleep. My mom has been on the receiving end of many “What do you want?”‘s on mornings when I have asked to her to make sure I was awake. And my alarm clocks, my poor poor alarm clocks, deserve worker’s comp for everything I have put them through.
3. Having to move and never feeling comfortable.