Another month, another city. Just over a week ago I moved to Brooklyn, NY for a two month stay while I complete an internship in Manhattan. Five months ago I had never lived in a city before, let alone a major city like Paris or NYC. My head is spinning from all the new sights and sounds, the new street names and train routes I have to learn, and the possibilities of what this city has to offer.
I have wanted to live in New York City since I first visited when I was around 13 years old. Like so many others, I was caught up in the magic and opportunity of this concrete jungle, heightened by my limited experience growing up in a town of 7,000. To me, New York promised the freedom to do and become anything I wanted, which around that time was probably a fashion designer or artist. I was enthralled by the people walking down the street, so different than the people I saw at home, wearing outfits as art, speaking different languages, going about their lives in a frantic rush. Now, at 21, my vision of New York is strikingly similar. Catching that first glimpse of the skyscrapers in the distance on the drive down is no less exciting than it was eight years ago, and the opportunity to actually live here for a short while is almost incomprehensible. Yes, it is loud, it is dirty, it is expensive, but it all adds to the feeling that New York is a city alive and without pretense, just waiting to let you in.
(update: since I wrote this post I got on a train going the wrong way, saw a rat on the subway, and was yelled at by multiple people on the street but hey; welcome to New York!)