[new york, new york]

It amazes me how all of a sudden New York City becomes normal. Everyday. The usual. I walk into the subway entrance of Grand Central Station to take the train home from work five days a week. I walk past that beautiful building, past the fancy entrance, down the steps and onto the 4 train without so much as an exhale of wonder anymore. Perhaps an occasional scrunch-the-nose of disgust, like when the homeless man who tends to frequent my Downtown/Brooklyn platform, was peeing directly onto said platform. Just whipped it out, peed. Yup. But in some ways, my reaction even followed this feeling of familiarity, because I really didn't give it much thought after, "gross, perhaps i will make extra sure I never set my bags down on the platform," and then I was over it, pulling out my book and waiting to go home. The act of riding the subway has lost its grandeur, although I suppose that was one of the first daily activities to do so. When you ride the subway on an average of four or five times a day, pretty soon you aren't going to feel the thrill any more. However, the subway does occasionally play its part in odd senses of nostalgia. For instance, I was meeting someone in Williamsburg last night, and I had to take the J train to Marcy Ave. When I first moved here, in October of 2008 (over two years ago!) my roommate/best friend and I lived with a married couple in Bushwick, off the J train at Myrtle Ave/Broadway. We only lived there for five months, but those are five months I remember vividly, as they were my first five months in this city. I say I remember them vividly, but they are also easily dismissed and forgotten, because the first five months anywhere cannot compare to the time after the completion of your first year. It is almost an act of survival to set aside those times of cluelessness and fear of the new and unknown. Needless to say, I do not frequent the J train any longer, as I don't have much that takes me into that area of Brooklyn. Most of my activities in Williamsburg allow me to take the L train, or the "Hipster Express," as it is unofficially known. It was as if I was stepping back in time, memories came flooding back, and only because I was riding a particular subway line. I think that perhaps the subway line that takes one to and from her home becomes a bit like her own car. I know where to stand on any platform so that I can get off in the best spot by the stairs I need to come out of the underground and into the air to walk to my apartment. If I ever move away from the 2/3/4/5 area, I will miss those trains and those stops nearly as much as I miss my beloved Honda CRV, the "Lut." You even get used to seeing some of the same people on those trains, especially when you leave for work at 5 in the morning, like I do. The subway is a way of life, I could probably go on about it longer, but I'd like to move on.

I think I decided that I wanted to "move to New York City someday" when I was about nine years old. My mom and I drove down from Connecticut to visit my uncle and his wife, who lived in an amazing apartment in Chelsea. We saw Les Miserables, my favorite musical at the time - the musical that made me decide that I wanted to be an actor, when I first listened to the soundtrack at the age of 5 or 6 - and all I can remember is weeping and being so happy, feeling so complete. There was something inside of me that felt connected to the city, I felt like it was calling to me, somehow. Every time I went back I felt that tug. When I was younger I was convinced that I'd move here by the time I was 18 and ready to go to college, but a visit to St. Olaf during the summer before my junior year in high school changed that I little bit. I felt the same tug of the heart when I was there as I did when I was in New York, so I decided to listen to that feeling. I sometimes wonder what would have happened if I'd ignored that tug and applied to East Coast schools instead, but my four years at Olaf were beautiful and full of some of the best memories I have, so I tend to push that worry aside. The last time I visited NYC before moving here was during my Sophomore year in college. It had been a year and a half since my last visit, and I still felt that emotional pull to the harsh and charismatic world of the city. I knew I couldn't ignore it. So, here I am, living here, doing what I always promised myself I would do. Being a New Yorker is nothing like I thought it would be, but I'm to a point now where I can say that it's better than I thought it would be. Not as glamorous, not as perfect, but better. I think it's better because I actually live here. The feeling of normalcy is lovely. Walking to and from the grocery store, carting my laundry down to the public laundry place, frequenting the Brooklyn Public Library, strolling through Prospect Park - those are ways of life.

Even though things have kind of become usual I am still aware of the juxtaposition of my life before and after I moved here. I am aware of the things I can do "just because I feel like it, any time I want." For instance, after work, I can skip up to Central Park and walk around, or read, or people watch. You can walk around, read, and people watch just about anywhere, but somehow attaching these activities to places in New York City makes the nine year old Amanda of the past feel giddy with excitement. The West Village. Soho. Battery Park. 5th Avenue. Union Square. The Upper West Side. The Lower East Side. I am balancing the personality of a New Yorker who doesn't give a shit about being in these places, and the personality of a romantic dreamer who still feels close to tears of happiness and other such emotions when I pause to think about where I am. I tried to lose the latter, for fear of looking like a tourist, for a time, but I have come to realize that I should keep this side of me present at all times. Why the hell should I live here if I'm not constantly in love with this city? And I say "in love" in a realistic way. When you are in love, sometimes that person pisses you off. Sometimes you are a bitch, sometimes that person is inconsiderate. You don't always get what you need or want. You cry, you laugh, you bicker, you yell, you caress...love is complex and beautiful and vile and perplexing. This is what I mean by being in love with New York City. This city will kick you down, it will lift you up, it will make you discover things about yourself and humanity. While living here has toughened me up, it has also reaffirmed my love for the human race and our abilities for greatness. Sometimes I think I'll never leave, and sometimes I dream of other places. Whatever the case, this city has scooped me up and held onto me, and it is where I choose to be right now. I may not have figured out much about my life, but I know that I am not done with this relationship of sorts that I have with NYC.

Hmm. For now that is all I have to say. I promise I will get to "falling in love/lust on the train" sometime soon, as it is an interesting, if not fascinating, topic. More to come.

[amanda]

"you hit me once, i hit you back, you gave a kick, i gave a slap, you smashed a plate over my head, and i set fire to our bed...a kick in the teeth is good for some, a kiss with a fist is better than none."

- Florence + the Machine, "Kiss with a Fist"

(A bit similar to the loving/abusive relationship one has with New York? Ponder that...)