How is that different from Columbia, you ask? Umm . . . the lattes are better?
So the challenge of expressing my awe of the first city experiences - through words or pictures - is too much for me. Professional writers have constructed poems and love songs to this city, but I don't have the words, much less the adoration. Not just yet. It's coming slowly, though, and the moments that I'm walking through what seems to me the biggest city on earth are slowly becoming more exciting and less terrifying. Daylight, with a good night's sleep, has done wonders for me.
A friend asked me today what had taken my breath away or amazed me this morning, and I was really struck by that. I think that question is exactly what I want my narrative to express. Clearly some things will take my breath away this summer with their sheer idiocy, but the things I'll want to remember will be the things that open my world up and take me out of myself. In the end, I figure that's what internships and moves to big cities should really be about.
So my moment of inspiration so far today? Rounding the corner from Bleecker Street onto Broadway, and seeing what I think must be the ultimate city experience. As far down as I could see, there were signs and shops and stores and restaurants and ads. I didn't stand and stare (my quest to appear to be a native - more on that in a minute), but I felt a wave of the awe that people talk about when they reminisce about New York City. I can say with certainty that I will fall in love with Broadway, and Greenwich Village, and all the little corners in them that I'll spend the summer discovering.
I've decided that the easiest way to get by alone in this city is probably just to appear like I know what I'm doing while I'm wandering aimlessly around looking for things. And the easiest way to do that? Walk with headphones in, keep my eyes to myself, and try to keep either a stern don't-talk-to-me expression or an aloof smirk on my face. That last part isn't actually had for me, as those of you who know me well can guess. I think New Yorkers are chronically wrapped up in their own little worlds of music and texts and connectivity (I guess it's that way everywhere, but I just know so many people in Columbia that being so ensconced in my bubble seems strange), so as long as I appear to be the same, I only have to confess to a small number of people that I'm in fact wildly out of my depth.
What's funny is the looks I get when I do make this confession - mostly sympathetic or bemused. When I asked the ticket man today about subway passes - of which I am now a proud owner - he just kind of smiled at me like he knew something big and awful was coming my way, but that he hoped I weathered it, and continued staring after me with this expression on my face while he watched me struggle with the card-swiper. The guy at the tollbooth right before the New Jersey turnpike was sweet too. When I asked him whether he needed my ticket thing or not, he just sort of smiled at me. "I'm new here," I explained sheepishly, and flashed what was probably one of the most pathetic smiles he'd ever seen. "Do you know where you're going on the other side?" he asked, and sent me on my way with a wish of good luck. Sometimes the benefits to being female just seem way too unfair.
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