from the archives: fifth floor walkup

“It was truly a pleasure to meet you today and help you with your move. I wish you the best in your new chapter.” The kind man from the moving company shut the door and left me alone in my empty Manhattan studio for the first time. My usual company, my cat, anxiously awaited my arrival at my friend’s East Village apartment; our home for the night before our early morning flight. I sat with my two suitcases and backpack on the newly swept floor. In tears, looking at the empty shell of the apartment I still can’t believe isn’t mine anymore. Just a month ago it was filled with life. Plants adorned anywhere they could fit, flour spilled from whatever I’d been baking on the dark hardwood floor. In just a year I’d built such a life in this place.

When I first hopped out of my UHAUL from Cleveland more than two years prior, I had described it as being able to breathe for the first time in months. I spent weeks making the tiniest bedroom in the West Village home. Throwing myself into the city and the new job that was practically tailor-made for me. When I finally managed to get my own place in Kips Bay, I made it my sanctuary. There was no other place that felt more like home. How did I blink and get here? Writing about the magic of New York City from an apartment in the Pacific Northwest.

When COVID hit, despite working in the restaurant industry and even taking a salary cut, I never thought about the possibility of leaving New York. I’d been pointing in the way of Seattle for a few years but my foot wasn’t out the door yet. New York was still home; I still had so many things I still hadn’t done, restaurants I hadn’t eaten at yet, people I hadn’t met. I told myself that 30 would be the year. That this time, for the first time, I’d do it right. I’d take my time, find a good job beforehand, save up, and plan ahead. 

Every move I’d made prior had been quick and dirty. I always figured it out, thankfully, but each time I was running away from or running towards something. Running toward a boyfriend in Buffalo and DC. Running away from that same (now ex) boyfriend in the direction of Chicago. Running toward my family and friends in Cleveland after losing my mom. Running was what I was good at. 

And then I got to New York, and it felt like I’d found my place. They say time flies when you’re having fun but it flies when you figure yourself out. When you’re whole and feel fulfilled. Everyone from home is having engagement parties, toddler birthday parties, and taking out mortgages on 3-bedroom ranches. That was never, and still isn’t, my goal. New York made that feel normal. Spending the day at the park with friends, taking the ferry to Brooklyn, grabbing drinks with an old colleague. To me, that’s idyllic. 

But that’s what happens, right? You find your footing, you nestle into your comfort zone, and then you’re given a choice. The day I was laid off from my job I was under the impression I was walking into a normal meeting with my boss. I had lightly joked with my friends two weeks prior while visiting Seattle that “If I lost my job right now, I’d pack up and be here in a minute.” I wasn’t lying when I said it, but I didn’t expect it to come to that. But I don’t have a single regret, even sitting here writing this with no idea what my life will look like in 3 months.

I miss New York. I miss my friends, the car horns blaring 24 hours a day. I miss the overpriced coffee, the rats and roaches on the sidewalk, the smell of Chinatown when I’m dropping off my camera film. I miss sitting on the top of the ferry and looking back at the skyline, and sitting on a bench at McCarren and watching new families on their afternoon walks. I miss days spent completely inside my apartment, not even leaving to experience the magic of the city. The rides on the 6 train, the moments that don’t make it onto social media. 

Now, on clear days, I can drive over the I-90 bridge and see Mount Rainier. I can go an hour outside the city and hike, seeing places that take my breath away. I can make this new beautiful place my home because New York made me whole. 

As I sat in my no-longer-mine studio. There are sad tears, and happy ones too. But the overwhelming feeling was always gratitude. Thank you, New York.