I miss New York on a sticky Friday summer night.
Specifically, that one Friday night in June when I made Bre try her first Thai iced tea, we walked around the East Village and, for some reason, I paid $25 to see “Toy Story 4.”
Saying hi to Juan who owns the liquor store downstairs (he once unclogged my toilet), sitting on my fire escape drinking coffee and if it’s a clear day maybe I can see the Empire State Building. That one time I accidently kicked a rat while wearing my favorite clogs, the pure excitement of running into someone you know on the street, forever looking up to see ancient architecture. The glee of landing at LaGuardia and knowing you’re home (then remembering your phone never works at LaGuardia and it’ll take you at least an hour to get out of there). I miss it.
I miss my ride on the M train every Sunday, morning coffee in hand, staring out the window. I miss watching girls apply makeup on the train before work, thinking I could never do that without spilling a million products. Photoshoots on the High Line and Fifth Ave, looking at all of the “art” on Museum Mile, wondering if I need any for my own apartment, an egg and cheese on a croissant from Raquel’s favorite bakery every time she visits. The cheap seats at a Yankees game, hollering at Aaron Judge. The long walk to an out-of-the-way bodega and views of the Brooklyn Bridge along the way. Sharing nachos at an Irish bar during happy hour, then the 17 minute wait for the L train. And then those nights where you actually decide to take a car home, the driver asks if you want to take the bridge or the tunnel...you always say bridge.
As much as we complain all day about how many people live here, I miss busy sidewalks in Soho and packed trains. The crowded walks around my favorite streets. I miss swaying to the music in Washington Square Park, then instantly being disgusted that someone is letting their child play in fountain water.
The first steps you take outside when it’s a sunny day and you immediately feel the heat on your skin. Or the run back up the stairs when you didn’t know it was raining and have to grab an umbrella.
I want a big fat bagel! And a dollar slice of pizza at 3 a.m. (or a $6 Artichoke slice, whatever I see first). I want to make kissy noises at a bodega cat. I want to walk 33 blocks and two avenues east just so I can take my favorite subway home. I want to get too excited thinking it’s nice out and dress inappropriately for the weather and sit outside for brunch.
My twenties - the messiest, most confusing, acrimonious years of my life. My greatest years, really. A new city. Always working at least two jobs. I live paycheck to paycheck but I’m really living, ya feel? I’m far from my “grown-up,” “professional,” “put-together” self when I think of my New York.
The first sip I ever had of a tequila sunrise (thanks Samantha). Sharing my thin college dorm mirror (even though I’m a 25-year old graduate) with two friends trying to get ready for a night out. Sneaking into Raquel’s room after I didn’t spend the night with her even though I was supposed to. Creating playlists instead of love letters. Bre arguing with bartenders. Wanting to walk across every bridge in the city (I’ve walked across 5). The power outage last July and having to walk 50 blocks uptown to the Heights when we couldn’t take the subway home. Squeezing each other’s arms and hands while out on the dance floor because we think this is our greatest moment - and it is. I miss my nail lady! And splitting the cheapest bottle of pink boxed wine we can find, making friends with the people in line for the bathroom, going out with a girl you met two days ago at work. That incomparable night when we stayed out until 8 a.m. for some reason. I miss trying to translate everything from Spanish. The one time I was a part of a Dungeons and Dragons crew. Singing Disney karaoke with each other and borderline have lost your voice from belting too many anthems. I even miss that one time I drank too much and fell asleep in the middle of a house party (it has happened twice actually).
I’ve lived out the greatest New York fantasies. I’ve drank at McSorley's (the "oldest" bar in NYC), dressed up as Queens’ Sweetheart, Miss Fran Fine for Halloween, got a big girl job then threw up on two different trains after "celebrating" too much, walked by the Macy's balloons the day before Thanksgiving. I knocked off seeing the Strokes and Billy Joel in concert from my bucket list (as they are both the greatest acts to come out of NYC). Dancing at a packed rap show in a community dark room when it was 90 degrees out. I texted directions to a Boston friend who was spending the weekend with me. “I’m on Park Ave, between 32nd and 33rd.” So she wouldn’t think I’m pretentious, I wrote in another text: “That’s how New Yorkers talk lol.”
And it’s these highly specific and the extremely unexpected things from my New York I miss the most. Because it’s what makes New York, my New York.
I once lost my sweater at a drag show. I walk to P.S. 81 to vote (and shamelessly post a picture of my sticker on socials). Romantic movie nights in Bryant Park. Ancient roller coasters of Coney Island, Madison Square Garden concerts, Broadway and off-Broadway shows, pretending to be Blair Waldorf on the Met steps, having breakfast at Tiffany’s, yelling at sporting events, fashion week parties, finding a new part of Central Park every time I go there. People watching and thinking how I could recreate the outfits of fashion girls with my own clothes. I even miss the thought of having to move apartments. Going the wrong way on the train, shoving tourists out of the way, discovering my new favorite places and getting lost in the best way possible. The tears, the heartache, the -$67.54 in my bank account.
I miss my New York. Where any dinner conversations keep going after the check is paid. Where the bartender gives us free shots. Where I make new friends on a rooftop party just simply for being there. Where Friday nights are spent in museums imagining stories for the subjects and what pieces would look best in our apartments.
I love the way a room feels when everyone's drinking and dancing and smiling and laughing and celebrating life in general. I'll never be this young again so I'm taking advantage of every second and every moment I can. I love to capture moments, in photographs, in winks across the dance floor, all of it.
You know when you walk into a room and immediately forget why you are there? What am I forgetting? That's how I felt leaving New York. I felt guilty and scared leaving New York during such a trying time. It's true though. New York went on without me. Forgot about me just like that. Moved on so quickly. It's weird to not know when I'll see my friends next. To see them everyday, then to not see anyone at all. To go from having every second of the day planned between work, dinner dates to movie nights and sleepovers. To not go out on weekends. The past two years of my life are scattered around this city. In coffee shops, in independent movie theaters, in concert venues. I can’t imagine not being in New York.
Life feels so real here. Like I'm doing something worthwhile (or on my way to). I feel at home at the rat-infested subways and during a busy rush hour in Midtown. The fast-paced environment is motivating and a reminder to where I am, why I'm here and how far, how long, how hard it has taken for me to get here. The pieces are still coming together. I don't have my dream job, but great friends who I can still experience every inch and part of New York with. There's still the inner dialogue inside me telling me I should have everything figured out by now. But the same inner dialogue telling me it's okay I'm falling short. No one has it figured out. I've still never felt more content and more at peace knowing my home is New York.
I don’t know how but somehow New York has made me more patient. I’ve learned to not rush. I’ll give a tourist the directions they need. I want to give. I want to see and do everything, have as many experiences as possible. New York changed my perspective and the way I approach literally everything. I want to say “I love you” and talk about my feelings without my voice cracking. Don’t beat yourself for always being the youngest person in the office, for having the lowest level job, for not having a date to the company event. I allow myself to talk to my friends about everything and anything. New York has somehow taught me it’s all okay.
New York has been there to celebrate birthdays, find my best friends. New York was there when I got my heart broken. A shot and a beer (or three) when I was let go from a deadend job I depended on. New York will be there. New York is a place where bodegas (or liquor stores, hi Juan!) feel like second homes.
I never want to see fluffy coffee again, I never want to (attempt to) learn a TikTok dance ever again, I never want to bake another banana bread for as long as I’m alive. And I will admit, I dream of a place with better weather, a place I can drive. I’ve been overwhelmed and exhausted. Everyone’s heard me say it: I live in the greatest city in the world. New York, simply, is my home. My dream city.
To my New York, we miss you, we love you.
