The only thing New Yorkers like telling you more than "how hard it is" to survive in New York,
is telling you how to survive in New York.
And not like- helpful things about how to survive in New York,
reverse psychology "how to survive in New York" tales "meant" to "advise" you,
but that actually just meant to make you feel a whole lot less competent in every single possible way.
Which is why I've decided I'm just not going to listen to anyone anymore.
Except for when they tell me that there are rats in the subway.
Because there are rats in the subway.
There are rats everywhere.
One valuable piece of advice I did get, however (though not from a New Yorker, please note, but instead from a 1-year NYC resident originating from - you guessed it - Wisconsin [hey, Lil!]) is that it's important to find your safe haven in the city.
Your bit of sanity.
Your special area of relaxation.
Your park bench.
Your cafe table.
Your random rooftop.
Your deserted alley (*potentially not safe at all)
Your favorite designer boutique (**potentially not safe for fully separate reasons)
Just somewhere/something/someone that makes you feel- if just for a moment- that you're good enough, that you can breathe, that you can stop worrying, that you can be content with what you have and where you are and who you're becoming and
other cheesy stuff that is super Non-New-Yorky but that, yes,
even people in New York need.
My current spot- thanks to the location scouting of the photog (Hans) featured in this here post- is this random little hill of a park located somewhere near ...
Please pause briefly while I message Hans and figure out where we were.
Ok: appparreennttlyyy, it's called "____".
Despite my adamant claims that it was, and I quote, "magic hobbit land that only appeared for us."
|don't say I never backed up my claims of idiocy|
For the first time since I got here, I took a deep breath.
Unhindered by the fear of also inhaling feces.
Which is fine.
Because I mean- breathing's super overrated anyways.
But every once in a while, I admit that it's nice to indulge in my perpetual, inexplicable, but undeniable need to be in a fantasy fiction film while wearing the coolest rustic leather & copper bracelet known to man.
And so I present to you,
My New York safe haven:
(IRL = "The Irish Hunger Memorial")