Waking Up From A Dream In The City That Never Sleeps

One of my biggest dreams growing up was to go to New York. There was something about the red brick buildings, glistening skyscrapers, luscious Central Park paths, and intensity of art and romance that drew me in. As a kid I imagined attending NYU to pursue acting. As I got older and more introverted, I no longer desired to move to the Big Apple, but I always wanted to see it for myself, largely enthralled by movies like How To Lose A Guy In 10 Days and Taylor Swift songs of course. There was always this idea planted in my mind that if you wanted to be someone big, have a successful creative career, write for a prestigious magazine, or do anything truly great, you have to move to New York. 

At the end of my senior year of college I was a living, breathing ball of anxiety, worried about how on earth I’d find a job in this market. The corporate ladder appeared to have fallen down, and so I had no clue how I was going to climb this building and find my way in the world. I had a conversation about these fears with a PR professor for an essay I wrote for my freelance writing class about networking, specifically for introverts and romantics who just can’t convince themselves to love the things this world tells them to love. 

If you’re anything like me, success doesn’t mean a big office, with a big title, with a big responsibility, and a big salary. Okay, the salary doesn’t sound too bad, but only because of what I’d use that for: a simple life with the people I love, drinking my coffee slowly every morning, being able to work on creative writing projects and collaborate with my talented friends. I told this professor, who truly meant well, that I was only going to look for jobs in LA, that I didn’t want to move to New York or anywhere else. “Why would you do that?” he asked, confused as to why I’d pigeonhole myself to one place when there are boundless possibilities in the fields I aspire to enter over in the city that never sleeps. I’ve heard the same confused remarks from other people, who do mean well, when they ask, are you ever going to move out of your parents’ house? Are you ever going to leave LA for something better? Essentially all I heard was are you ever going to grow up?

Lo and behold I found a job in LA, and when deciding where to go on vacation this summer I picked the city everyone told me I should go to. I picked the place that was once a dream and the backdrop for so many of the stories I love. I wanted to see for myself, is this really a place that’s been waiting for me?

I arrived on a clear, June morning and took a taxi from JFK to Midtown. Our hotel was less than a block away from Radio City Music Hall, and I was giddy to be in the heart of New York… until I went to Times Square. We went during the World Cup so it was super crowded, but I assume it’s like that all the time regardless of summer and sports. 

Over the course of the trip I smelled so much weed wafting through the streets I wondered if I’d get high. Soon enough any NYPD whistles and honking didn’t really register in my mind because it was all so loud, an ambulance trying to get through those tight streets didn’t seem to make a difference in the strange jazz music that makes up the sounds of NYC. Times Square didn’t look like how it did on TV, and I had to ask myself, what was I expecting?

And then, that evening, my mom and I decided we should try to take the subway downtown since we had planned to go on the Statue of Liberty cruise the next day. Neither one of us has a great sense of direction, so even when a kind man showed us where to go to follow google maps’ instructions, we stepped out of the subway station and into the Bronx. Immediately we called an Uber and I wanted to cry. 

For someone who graduated college summa cum laude, I spend a lot of time feeling pretty dumb—from every mistake I’ve made at work that I could’ve prepared better for, to how awkward I feel when meeting new people and making small talk, sitting in an Uber was the cherry on top on how hopeless I’ve been feeling as a post-grad who liked the boundaries and predictability that school offered. The real world doesn’t work like school though. You can study all you want, be prepared, and still, life isn’t exactly a test or a project waiting to be graded. I felt regret, wondering why I booked a trip to a big, bustling city when what I really had been craving all year was a calm, nautical getaway. I seriously debated booking it to Maine. 

I’m grateful for how grounding my mother was, pulling me out of the spiral and assuring me we’d still have a great trip. We Ubered early the next morning to Seaport and spent a few hours overlooking the Brooklyn Bridge before our Lady Liberty cruise. She was cool, but no statue will ever compare to seeing the Statue of David in Florence for the first time. 

Our plan for that day was to walk as far up north as we could, then Uber back to the hotel. And so I made my Swiftie pilgrimage: Housing Works Bookstore (where the “All Too Well” short film was shot) and Cornelia Street. We ended our day at The White Horse Tavern, where I wanted to go because it’s where Dylan Thomas and other American writers used to gather. We clinked our aperol spritzes and cheersed to a good day roaming around The West Village. 

There’s something about sitting where writers used to convene that felt nostalgic. I wondered what it was like for them to live in this city, that despite how hectic it can feel, is honestly so inspiring as a writer because of all the different people and stories that must exist, everyone there for a unique reason with a unique goal that somehow makes them all alike. 

I felt the same nostalgic and haunting feeling sitting inside The Hotel Chelsea, both a place of artistic revolution and tragic tales. Maybe the Chelsea, and New York itself, are where romance and reality finally met in me. Seeing NYC, getting lost, smelling the smells, and encountering the less glamorous version of what’s depicted in the movies or sung about in songs from a celebrity lifestyle perspective was a bit like waking up from a dream of what I thought NYC would be, a reality of the city that never sleeps, that makes its own dreams out of what’s real. 

So in the end I didn’t regret going to New York, because all the good, bad, ugly, and stinky memories opened my eyes to countless things: I don’t dream of living in NYC like I once did as a child, because dreams change and that’s okay; I don’t have to want what others think I should want or do with my life, because it’s my life, and I’m more than capable of pursuing a career I love outside the Big Apple; there’s beauty in reality, in getting lost and finding your way back (we did take the subway downtown successfully a few days later); beauty exists in unexpected places, like the man playing guitar and singing on the subway, and knowing that the Empire State Building views can be adored without wanting to uproot my life. 

I enjoyed the memories we made on the trip, checking off bucket list items like seeing Claude Monet’s paintings at The Met, drinking coffee at Ralph’s cafe, and looking at The Starry Night at MoMa (and sipping a cocktail at the museum’s rooftop restaurant during the day, it was vacation after all). 

One of the easiest things for me to do is compare myself to others, to people who went to New York and didn’t get overwhelmed, found adventure in the night life and fell in love with the blinding lights. While I can find the beauty in it, I really didn’t fall in love, and it’s easy to wonder if it’s weird that I didn’t like it as much as I thought I would, or as much as other people do. 

Being aware of those thoughts reels me back in, because it’s my life. I can like what I like and want different things than others do. I learned more about myself on this trip than any other, learned what I want and don’t want, learned that I like roaming around museums and coffee shops and Fifth Avenue more than the “party life” I envisioned myself enjoying as a teenager. Maybe growing up is learning to be okay with who you are and loving her for who she is, mistakes and everything. I’m grateful to New York for waking me up to that reality.