New York, I love you

When I first moved here I was a complete idiot. I thought I was well-equipped to deal with New York. I thought I knew what to expect because I knew New York. I had felt it in my bones. Her and I had known each other and loved each other in many lifetimes. I was ready. But I had no fucking clue.

I had no clue people don’t care about you here. I had no clue that people aren’t afraid here. I had no clue that I’d be hopping onto a treadmill going full speed without any time to warm up. I had no clue you have to dive in head first without hesitation. New York doesn’t give you time to dip a toe.

I remember walking by myself and thinking please just let me make it home safely. Please let me find my way. I have no clue where I am. And New York whispered ‘I don’t care, figure it out’.

New York hardens you. There’s a reason the saying goes ‘if you can make it here, you can make it anywhere’. Because there is no place harder to navigate, harder to survive. There is no place that slaps you in the face then immediately cradles you after. New York doesn’t care if you can pay your rent. New York doesn’t care if you’re pretty or married or sleeping around or trying to make it or burning the midnight oil.

You don’t come here for New York to appreciate you. So don’t. Because she never will. You come here to appreciate New York. And in moments like this, I sure do.

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