Bex in the City

If you are looking for my usual hilarity and comic relief… you may have come to the wrong place today.  I mean, I can’t help my natural charisma and there will likely be some funny and snicker-worthy notes, but this is honesty.  This is the true story, of me, picked to live in NYC, work with other New Yorkers, and not have my life taped (even though it should be).

When you decide you are going to move to a new place, most people do a LOT of research about where to live, what you can do in the city, the weather…etc.  I didn’t really do any of that.  It’s New York!  What did it matter? I did, however, talk to as many people as I knew (which was two) who lived in the city as a single person, to ask them what it was like, and what kinds of things I should watch out for, the cool places to eat, the spots to avoid….

The one NYC friend I had before moving out here (Hi Matt!) did give me a word of caution.  He warned me that no matter how happy I was to be in New York, no matter how great my job was, and how fabulous the weather turned out; there would be periods of time when I would just HATE IT ALL.

I didn’t believe him.  Who could possibly hate living in New York?  Sure, the rent is astronomical, the subways never seem to run normally, and one section of my block seems to chronically smell like an outhouse; but overall, how could I ever hate this city?

Turns out, that’s not really what he meant.  And I finally learned that. It’s not about hating the city, it’s about vulnerability, and what New York does to change you. It has a way of stripping you down and exposing all the parts of you that you thought were safely tucked away. It brings out both the best and the worst – or at least what you think is the worst.  New York has made me vulnerable, and definitely not by choice.
Vulnerability is something that I have always struggled with.  There’s a constant fear that if anyone gets close enough to see the real me, I won’t be enough.  I won’t be pretty enough, I won’t be smart enough, I won’t be funny enough, or anything enough.
But moving here gave me a chance to start fresh.  To be someone who no one really knew.  To be able to “be myself”, whatever that means.  And that’s so much harder than you think it will be.  I feel like being in such a new and different place, I have the opportunity to take risks, to learn more about myself, and to be that open person that I want to be.  But in doing so, in “finding yourself”, you get clobbered.

During a recent two week period, everything that I left behind/lost became very apparent, as well as all the hard things I’ve encountered. I left family. I left friends. I lost my workout routine.  I walked away from the possibility of a relationship.  I’ve watched that possibility find someone else. I’ve had a birthday, and gotten even older. (sigh.)  I’ve been open to new relationships, only to be rejected because I am not married or have children, and just don’t have the life experience that I “should” at 34. I don’t have the freedom of a car of my own. I’ve sprinted for the subway, only to watch the doors slam closed in my face.  I’ve reached out to new people, only to be ignored.  I’ve asked for advice, and instead received criticism that my expectations are too high and that I need to try harder. I can’t find a good pizza place less than two blocks away from my house. I’ve tripped up the stairs with handfuls of groceries. Calls have been unreturned.  Texts have been unanswered.  I can’t find Tillamook cheese anywhere.  I’ve felt simultaneously exhausted by the amount of people and things around me, and also lonelier than ever before.
And so, as my friend Matt warned me, that day indeed came; everything seemed to be going wrong, and too many wrongs had not made a right. I spent an entire dinner venting to him, culminating with a very dramatic look up at the sky, raised fists, and cursing everything about my life and how much New York sucks! I hated everything, everyone, and questioned why in the world I was in this crazy city, so far from everything that I had always known and loved.

But almost immediately I was struck with the thought and the irony that New York was actually the one thing that was keeping me sane.  It was and IS my saving grace.  And I honestly can’t quite explain how; it has this indescribable soul and feeling that you can’t help but to latch on to, and love. It is literally full of millions of people and things that you vacillate between hating and loving. But it is a place that, as the man holding the subway door for me this morning said, “there’s always room for one more”.

New York is saving me from complacency and being stagnant.
It is the therapist that makes you do all the uncomfortable things.
It is what made me leave things that were not helping me grow.
It has encouraged me to reach out to others where I normally might not have.
It has pushed me to try new things, and to care less about what other people think.
It has made me unapologetic for everything that I am.
It allows me to shape the life I want, not the life that I have always felt I “should” have.
It makes me feel validated in truly wanting it all, whatever that might be.
It gave me the courage to do the hardest thing I’ve ever done and to leave everything.

I love New York; and as it turns out, she loves me right back.

As Leonard Cohen writes, “love is not a victory march, it’s a cold and it’s a broken hallelujah”. Love breaks you down, to build you up. New York does the same, and in the best way possible. It makes you go all in, and it is courage beyond measure. It’s a sense of relief while you feel the weight of exposure.  And while  I’m sure I’ll raise my fists to the heavens many more times, and I might be failing at everything else in life, New York has made me feel like I’m finally not failing myself.

And that’s pretty amazing.

XOXO