New York City

Living in New York City, as I have since the 17th of August, is quite spectacular. As someone who has loved this city in a rather romantic fashion since he first visited when he was 14, my level of awe and excitement has yet to decrease even marginally. Essentially, I am Kevin McCallister living it up by himself in the world's greatest city, seeing pigeon ladies, running away from Tim Curry, fucking up Marv's nose repeatedly, receiving large cheese pizzas that are just for me, and having one of those little refrigerators you have to open with a key, et cetera. It is actually not like that at all, but it is still pretty rad. However, the size of this city can be quite overwhelming. Not in a too-many-people-and-cars-and too-many-loud-noises kind of way, but in an isolating kind of way. For example, if I wanted to get out of this city–to experience the vast spoils of quiet suburbia, I would essentially have to travel sixteen miles to find some pompous Long Island neighborhood, or I would have to go to New Jersey. To be sure, both options would be far from simple and would require substantial timing and planning. In Boston, I could hop on the train or simply walk a couple miles and be in a more suburban atmosphere–far from the case here. Regardless of its incessantly overwhelming nature, there is something very uplifting about living here. New York City has its own heartbeat and, if you do not feel it, you are not paying attention. This city is ceaseless, grand, frightening, humbling, inspiring, intimidating, loud, obnoxious, and, above all, perfect.  

I cannot help but think, though, that the last three years of my life have simply been me saying goodbye to people about whom I care a great deal. When I moved to Boston, I said goodbye to my girlfriend since high school, my best friends of eight years, and my two brothers whom I have missed so painfully much that I often feel like I am missing a limb or a part of my mind when I acknowledge our separation. In Boston I made some great friends, friends whom I grew to admire more and more the longer I knew them. To be honest, I grew to like them more than I posited was possible upon my settling in the city. Just as I was becoming incredibly close with some of them, I moved away. I have already met a few friends here, but it always feels wrong—or adulterated?

Moving to New York has been particularly difficult because, even though the difference in distance is quite marginal, it feels like I am moving even farther away from my Iowa friends and my brothers. Additionally, this time I moved away from my parents. They are only four hours away, but it hurts. My parents may not have represented the paragon of parenting by most standards, but they represented nothing short of perfection by mine. They raised three boys who care about each other more than they care about themselves. They have supported me and encouraged me to do anything I have ever wanted to do, regardless of how ludicrous or stupid. Living with them for two and a half years was an amazing experience, and I say that as an absolute understatement. 

I am currently in a situation in which I have a one-year lease, a precariously modest savings account, no job, and a masters degree to attain. Undoubtedly, I am in over my head. I trudged through my advanced mathematics courses during my undergraduate studies and thought of myself as nothing more than "the little mathematician who could" from Calculus I through Linear Algebra; I am not very smart, but I would like to believe that I worked harder than anyone else in those classes to just barely succeed. But I worked harder out of necessity, and I am not sure if I carry with me the temerity or willpower to work as hard as will be required of me come this fall.

That is where New York City comes into play. New York is so intimidating and humbling that there will always be a myriad of people substantially more successful than you. For some people that might be a source of great disparagement, but for me it establishes an incessant (I hope) urge for me to work as hard as I possibly can in order to gain some ground. My main hope is to stay positive and motivated even during times, like right now, when it is 86 degrees in my bedroom, three unanswered job applications are lingering about my head, I am somehow still hungover from an entire day of binge drinking (and very little eating) and presenting myself as a drunken piece of shit in front of several very cultured peers from my department at NSSR, and I am already struggling with the math in one of my courses. 

There are two things helping me right now: my dear friend Chris Byrd told me about a record called 'I'm Rich Beyond Your Wildest Dreams' by a band called Diarrhea Planet (despite the discordant name, you will like it or you're a monster—start of with the song "Kids" when you're drunk or high or both or neither). The second thing is that, if I look out my window right now, it's New York City out there. And, to me, that is still really fucking rad. Over and out. 

(Also Derek Jeter is playing again, and that's rad. (Even though he's batting .170 and the Yankees worked as a team to blow a 3-0 lead in the 7th.))