This morning I got sucked into the New York Times' recent series on twenty-somethings living in New York City. The articles describe how some young folk will go to any lengths to get by in the city when they could be living anywhere else in a much more comfortable manner. Then you can listen to several of these brave people discuss the "dark moments" of first moving to the city and their creative strategies for making a living.
I was fascinated partly because a few years ago that was me. I lived in Williamsburg for a year and worked in publishing for a less-than-living wage (by New York standards). I had those dark moments and worried that I would never make any friends. I holed up in one of those postage-sized apartments that once lost all water for a long weekend in January because the pipes burst in the first-floor apartment. Mostly I looked forward to escaping when the end of my year-long lease came up.
But now I miss certain things about it. Sure, I love Providence, and it's great to live in an apartment three times the size of the one in Williamsburg for a lower rent. But when I go back to visit my friends, I miss being able to wander the streets and find ten new stores or restaurants and know that we'll never be able to try them all. I miss feeling like there were endless possibilities crammed into that tiny island. Today I almost envied those folks trying to get by (didn't quite wish that I could go back and try it again, though).
Oh New York, why do you tease me?
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