I read this line on a commemorative stone leading up to the Statue of Liberty today. Suddenly I realized that nothing could more aptly describe my summer in the city, the lessons I’ve learned, and the person I’ve become as a result my experiences over the last two months.
It has taken this long to realize that this summer has been an exercise of my own freedom: I came here not knowing a soul, with no idea what my internship would entail and no roadmap for a successful trajectory in the streets of this huge melting pot or in my personal life. The beauty of this city—this whole life, really—is that no path is the same. We blaze our own trails! I feel that this summer has been my personal tutorial in doing just that.
For the first time in my life, I was placed in a situation where I must actively seek the things I desired: new friends, adventures, contacts for future endeavors, and of course cultural stimulation. There is no better place to do these things than in NYC, and at times no place more challenging. How in the world can you find a kindred spirit in a city obsessed with anonymity? How do you choose what to do when you get off work at 11PM and there are still millions of things to see and do?
Luckily for me, I have met so many people since my arrival in early June, and a couple of them I truly believe will remain a part of my life forever. The most valuable thing that I have learned, however, is to figure out what I want and just do it—regardless of who is with me and what other people think. I don’t consider myself a loner, but nowadays I have no qualms going to dinner or seeing a show or movie by myself. I’ve found that there’s something to be said for a balance between good company and doing things on my own.
Yesterday, for example, I had much of the day off because I had fulfilled my 30 hour work week, so I took the opportunity to do some wandering. I opted for my favorite anti-plan: choose a starting point and go from there. I started at St. John the Divine, the world’s largest Cathedral (hooolllly cow it was big), read my book for hours in the quad at Columbia University, and walked by Riverside Park. That night, for the first time, I went to hear an author that I like, and got her to sign my copy of her book. I realized that I could wear my most hipster t-shirt (it was still J.Crew), paint my nails seafoam green, check off three restaurants from my to-do list (yes, all three meals were dessert), and drink tap water from a wine glass in my little bedroom. I can literally be anyone I want to be—undefined, unwritten. It took coming to New York for me to realize this, but I hope that everyone has this epiphany at some point because it is one of the most liberating feelings in the world!
At the risk of entering the realm of the prematurely sentimental, I’ll add one more thought that’s been running through my mind over the past few days, and it is this: If you were to ask random people on the streets when one becomes a “real New Yorker,” you would obtain a variety of responses ranging from “being able to find your way home from any point in the five boroughs” to “the first time you got mugged.” Personally, I believe that moment is when you can acknowledge the city for what it is. Something indefinable and yet understood by all who have spent enough time here to see the ups and downs. You learn to roll with the punches, to make good of what is handed to you even if it rains on your day off or subway construction lands you in unknown territory. Sometimes it feels like the city is out to get you, and then you happen upon some little piece of paradise--like being at 42nd and 5th at just the right time to see the sun go down and fill the street with glowing, glittering luster; or when you descend the subway stairs just as the train arrives at your platform. Some days, it’s more obvious. You’re struggling with a 200lb rolling suitcase full of hardcover books in the pouring rain and just when you’re ready to push the bane of your existence into the tracks of an oncoming train, you look up and there, scrawled almost illegibly on the beam upholding the station, is simply the word “pray;” a gentle yet powerful reminder to slow down and be grateful—to find the beauty in all things. That's when you know that out of anywhere in the whole world, you're right where you're meant to be.
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