I remember the manic moment I decided to move to New York City.
A monumental job offer came in and my parents decided to fly us to the city for a day to check out the school.
The jet lag disguised as adrenaline pulsed through my body, as I went from checking out the school in the Bronx to drinking sake at dinner to meeting an old friend at a bar.
That seedy bar became a rooftop club and a New York skyline view and people in purple pumps and polo-shirt boys and sparklers.
I met my friend Bobby’s friends who promised to befriend me and friended me on Instagram. I could not tell you their names now.
“We’re all crazy here,” said Bobby’s unnamed friend.
In that club, looking around wide-eyed, I was amazed by that one guy that could control the color of the tip of the Empire State Building.
I’m moving to New York.
It took me an hour to get a taxi when my phone died.
I’m moving to New York.
The cab ride was 40 bucks.
Moving.
To give New York credit, there is still something magical about living here. Despite every little obstacle, you persist and you love persisting.
You persist even when it’s freezing and you can’t feel your hands.
You persist even though taxi drivers charge you money for just stepping in the taxi.
You persist even when they raise your rent from your Covid deal.
And mostly, you persist even when you find out that anyone with an iPhone can change the color of the lights on most buildings in New York.
20-Something With A Blog 