There's
nothing more cliché than an innocent, wide-eyed, starstruck eighteen
year old moving to Manhattan after graduating from high school. She
thinks that she's a Charlotte, she has a playlist of “city” songs on
her iPod, and constantly updates a list of cupcakeries she's been
meaning to try. She stumbles upon movie sets, takes a bunch of
pictures, brags about it on Facebook, and thinks that it means more
than it really does. She expects it all to make her happy, as if she
is devoid of any responsibility. As if New York City were some
mythical creature able to heal all maladies and put you on the right
path in life. Like all you have to do is show up and you will have it
all figured out.
So it
happens when she least expects it to. When she's too busy playing the
role she thinks she needs to play. She's paying so much attention to
what she wears to class, what she writes in her papers, and what she
says to her parents when they call, that it washes over her, waking
her up and subduing her at the same time. She's overcome with the
sense that she's made a huge mistake.
New
York City may not have magical healing powers but that doesn't mean
it's not capable of detecting shifts in confidence. As soon as she
begins to doubt herself and question the decisions she's made that
have led her to the city of her dreams, Manhattan reaches into its
depths and attempts to throw her up, like she's not worth it anymore.
And she takes this as her cue that she's not strong enough to
withstand everything that gets thrown her way. Instead of fighting to
prove her worth, she rolls over and blames everyone else for her
failure.
***
New
York City kicked my ass when I was eighteen years old. The streets
which had once seemed so full of opportunity quickly seemed devoid of
any meaning. I felt pulled between feeling too empty and feeling too
full, struggling for privacy and worried that I was all alone. I wish
I knew that I was just growing up. That the aimlessness was to be
expected. But I thought I was way beyond all of that. I was mature
for my age goddammit.
Men
cat-called on the street, I sat in the closet crying on the phone,
everyone posted “I love college!!” on Facebook, and I felt so far
away from my friends from boarding school. I felt guilty being in New
York and moving on with my life. It didn't feel like something I
wanted to move on from. That's one of the things they don't tell you
about graduating from high school and entering the world for the
first time: it means you're closing the book on something. And you
can never re-open it, no matter how hard you try. Ready or not, the
future awaits.
I
wasn't ready to let go. I wasn't willing to close the book on high
school, so I straddled it as I tried to open my new book, my epic New
York City tale that was just waiting to be written. But this was
exhausting, and it changed me in ways that I didn't expect and I
still don't fully understand.
I
don't know if it was New York that rejected me or if I rejected New
York. I took as much as I could from the city, as if my frantic
grasping would lead to me procuring a big enough chunk that would
make everything worth it. But as I kept reaching for something that
wasn't there, New York decided to start pulling me apart, taking
things from me that I didn't even know I had.
It was
like I was engaged in a fistfight with the magical creature, as if I
needed someone or something to blame my unhappiness and confusion on.
New York wasn't innocent in it all, but neither was I. It changed me
faster than I anticipated, and in different ways than I was ready
for. I decided that I needed to run, I needed to breathe, I needed to
leave. Not even indie movies, red velvet, and Gossip Girl could keep
me still.
I wish
someone told me then what I know now. As I was struggling with the
picture in my head of how it was supposed to be, I was losing control
over it all. As I was stuck straddling my dusty, epic high school
tome and this new and stiff New York anthology, I was forced to make
a decision. I attempted to shift towards the future, the exciting and
limitless New York, but I hesitated just a little too long in my
decision and it ended up slamming shut. Instead of shifting all my
weight to New York and letting my past slam shut, I put too much care
into my decision to move on from the place that showed me true
happiness. I felt like I'd be betraying it if I didn't let it close
gently.
But
there I was, left with two closed books and one dead end, and I had
no idea how to move forward. New York City couldn't put me on the
right path in life or treat the heartbreak I was feeling. It didn't
know how to and it wasn't its responsibility to. For the first time
it was up to me to decide whether I was ready to grow up. And New
York City won.
***
It's
three years later. Armed with both the burdens and the joys of my
past and my hope for the future, I'm one week into the first semester
of my senior year. I'm putting on my boxing gloves, fueled by the
wild range of emotions I've experienced this last year, and I'm ready
for a rematch. I'm a student at NYU again. What. The. Fuck.
There's a quote
that says “insanity is doing the same thing over and over again but
expecting different results.” Its origin has long been contested,
but it's been bouncing around in my brain for the last month or so,
pinning me down when I least expect it to and taunting me when I let
a sliver of doubt enter my mind. After some careful rumination, I've
come to the conclusion that this quote is bullshit.
Now, don't get me
wrong, I'm sure some people take inspiration from this very blunt
statement. I mean, it's often traced back to Narcotics Anonymous
texts, so whatever helps people I guess. But I'm offended by the
assumption that doing the same thing over and over leads to the same
outcome. If that were the case we wouldn't be living in a world of
Elvis, Michael Jordan, Mickey Mouse, electricity, and Harry Potter.
Theodor Seuss Geisel (Dr. Seuss to all you green eggs and ham
connoisseurs) submitted the manuscript for his first book, And To
Think I Saw It On Mulberry Street, to 27 publishing houses and
received 27 rejections. All it took was one person to recognize the
awesomeness of the Seuss, and BAM. Everything changed.
Sure, it can be
argued that inventors like Edison and the Wright Brothers weren't
doing the same thing over and over again, but in fact tweaking their
ideas in order to achieve their ultimate successes, but I think my
argument still applies. They were persistent, they had faith in
something or someone, and they held on for that little bit of luck or
fate or whatever you want to call it. They were hopeful that things
would eventually align for them and that they were doing what they
needed to do, so they kept going.
Lately
I've wondered if I am in fact insane for making the same moves over
and over again. Here I am going back to the place that originally
derailed me, a place where I struggled with questions of identity,
grappled with my past, and reconfigured what I wanted and needed from
my future. But as I attempt to shake off the doubt and the worries
that inevitably creep in, I am reminded that we, as people, are
constantly changing. Every time I make a decision, big or small, I am
a different person. What brought me to NYU at eighteen years old is
completely different from what brings me to NYU now, at twenty-two.
With a little faith, a lot of determination, and a positive attitude,
who says I won't get a different result?
