I interned on 13th and Gansevoort during the summer of 2011 at the wonderful CRT/tanaka PR agency. Its building straddled the Meat Packing District and West Village areas, so it was pretty hip. Of course, I had no idea about that when I arrived on New York’s doorstep as a Wisconsin girl going to school in Dallas. New York gave me my me.
After New York, a major (and necessary) break-up inspired me to spend some time trimming the fat off of my life. Fat for me, at this time and in this metaphorical sense, was anything that did not function in favor of my mind’s peace and my heart’s warmth.
Until a couple months ago, I was unable to see New York as anything more than a large and undesirable wad of fat. A love handle, if you will.
I was confused as to why people were choosing to make their lives harder for no “apparent reason.”
I mean, why use a laundromat when you could just use your laundry room? Why lug your groceries for blocks when you could just lug them to your car? WHY MAKE THINGS THAT ARE ALREADY SHITTY EVEN SHITTIER?
Here’s why: the community provided by the mutual struggle and the energy that comes from surviving.
Being submerged in a crowd of 200 unfamiliar faces can be disorienting. However, every one of those faces- aside from those of the gawking tourists- belongs to someone who’s going through, or has gone through, some variation of whatever you’re going through, or have gone through.
Everyone’s got something in common in New York.
Don’t believe me? Anderson Cooper had bed bugs. Case closed.
No matter how alone you might feel, you’re never actually alone. In fact, you’re in one of the biggest, and most elite clubs in the world.
You live in New York- you’re making it.