Today was weird.
Having been gone for a week, and considering that when I left for vacation New York was still undecided as to whether it was fall or spring, today was the first day it actually felt like summer here for me. And the first summer day of each year is full not only of humidity and pollen, but nostalgia. I moved to New York in the dead heat of summer (July 2005 to be exact). I remember walking to work my first day and showing up looking like John Candy in the horse-riding scene of The Great Outdoors. I remember using my free days to walk from my apartment on the Upper East Side to the West Village (cupcake at Magnolia Cafe for breakfast) and other downtown sites as I made friends with the city.
The first day of summer feels like hope to me. I came here because this city offered the possibility of new friends, new relationships, a new life. So when I am blasted on both sides by the hot air of the subway and the hot air of summer, when the scent of boiling dog urine wafts up through my nostrils, I am kept from total disgust by the reminder of my first days here and all that the past four years in the city have given me.
But the city giveth, and the city taketh away. And lately I have felt like the city has cornered me in an alley, kicked the crap out of me, and taken all my money. Because for all the life experiences I have gained, for all the friendships I cherish, for the chart-topping fact that I met my BF here, I have still paid a price. It’s a purely financial downside, which feels crass to even discuss. But it still hurts when, as a successful New York City dentist, I only buy lunch out if I can get the Subway $5 ham footlong (even though their meat is kinda stank) so that I can save half for dinner.
The city that was full of hope four years ago now feels suffocating.
But when the air hit me today and brought with it that nostalgia, I was thankful. Since it appears that my boo and I are stuck here another year all because of teeth (thank you, dental licensing boards in states that will not be named), it helps to be reminded of the good parts of this place. Cupcakes and such. Passing the homeless soup guy and hearing him ask for 84 cents again instead of talking on his cell phone. Heartwarming reminders that in New York, you’re never alone in your joy or suffering, wealth or poverty.
ed. note: Upon returning home, the author saw a commercial advertising a program that allows people on Medicaid and Food Stamps to receive free cell phones from the government. Her response was, “Damn soup guy probably has a nicer phone than mine, which doesn’t even have a camera.” A few minutes later, the author’s writing was disrupted by the building super, who demanded to be let in to show some inspectors around the apartment. Her response was, “Screw happy endings and morals to blog entries. Are you there God? It’s me, Stephanie. PLEASE CAN I LEAVE NEW YORK SOON??!!”