I was so nervous the night before. I couldn’t stop “What-If-icating” (a word I JUST made up for this blog post).
- What if I fail at my NYC internship?
- What if I get kidnapped (a somewhat irrational fear brought on by my mother’s craziness)
- What if I don’t make friends and I spend all summer sitting around in the greatest city in the world?
I couldn’t sleep and required a little talking down. I stayed on the phone with my (soon-to-be ex) boyfriend, who calmed me down from 2-5am. He probably would have spent more time calming me down, but my plane left at 9:30am, which in my mother’s obsessive, always-anxious eyes meant she should drive me to Tampa International at 6am.
I boarded the plane, exited two and a half hours later and followed the other passengers to the baggage claim. Now that I had my bags, all I had to do was step out of LaGuardia’s doors and step in to New York City. For lack of better, strong enough wording, as I took that step out I felt like someone had just thrown a brick at my head for several reasons.
- I already get slightly anxious going places I’m not familiar with, even if it’s just a place I haven’t been in a city I’ve lived in for 13 years.
- I grew up in Tampa, Fla. – No Podunk, USA, but no New York City either.
I then jumped in the first form of transportation I saw, a.k.a. an overpriced car service, and made my way towards 25 Union Square West, the address of New York University’s Carlyle Hall, my place of residence for the next ten weeks.
I checked in and couldn’t find my room, an experience I choose to blame on poor instructions, but secretly know was due to the fact that I wasn’t listening to the woman who directed me. Regardless, I eventually found my room and was greeted by two perfect-looking, weirdly friendly people: my room mate, Jenna, and her mother.
We made friendly small talk as she informed me that our two other room mates, her friends, would arrive shortly. It was one of the most awkward moments of my life. While her mom stared at me with somewhat disapproving eyes, shocked that I was moving in sans parents and had no friends in the city, Jenna tried to figure me out. I’m not a weird person, but I’m sure I certainly looked so to Jenna; we couldn’t be more different. Jenna’s hair was light and pin straight. She wore natural looking makeup, a little eyeliner and rosy cheeks that matched her Lily Pulitzer collared shirt, flowy white skirt and popular Steve Madden sandals well. I faced her with my dark, almost black hair, exaggerated black eyeshadow, bright yellow cardigan, white v-neck, Married To The Mob black denim and Vans Authentics. I’m sure we were a funny sight to outsiders.
Just as a note, the two other girls that would eventually move in were just like Jenna. They were beyond rich, spent most of their weekends in the Hamptons, and had a few hundred dollars worth of weed and Xanex on them at all times. We didn’t get along, but not because we dressed differently or had different interests, but due to statements like “Yeah the bathrooms dirty, but my nanny cleans it at home.” Needless to say, you won’t be hearing any more about these roomies because in ten weeks, we exchanged only a handful of words.
In a rush for a room that didn’t seem to be judging me, I left Carlyle and wandered around using the excuse of needing some essentials. Let me just start with a thank you to whomever decided to number streets for providing the sole reason for me not becoming hopelessly lost. I walked the NYC streets in search of a place to buy toiletries, a search I wasn’t too invested in as I walked the city for several hours before buying anything, despite the grocery store about 200 feet from the hall. I’d already fallen in love with the city. Musicians played their instruments in either desperate hope to earn a dollar, or a desperate need to change the world through art. Bums roamed the street in vests made out of soda can pop tops with signs like “Obama promised change, where’s mine?” Vendors set up tables that NYC residents walked right past, and visitors stared at secretly knowing that $15 was too much for a string bracelet, but spent the money anyways as if New York City string was more valuable than the rest. Buildings were tall, old and historical and hundreds or thousands of people busily walked the street for whatever reasons. I walked for hours before returning to my dorm, where I found Union Square Park, amid all the craziness, a place I would spend many nights as somewhat of a haven from the gritty hustle of life in NYC.
It was a perfect walk on the perfect day in what, in my opinion, is the perfect city, but the next day I would begin my internship – an experience so far from that first day perfection.
