A Year in New York City...

Self Portrait; One year in New York City and still going...

At the end of my street there is a little café on the corner complete with warm red-bricked walls, canvas awnings, a lovely wooden patio and windows that look in on candle-lit tables dressed with warm meals and cool drinks all year 'round. I walk by this little café nearly every day on my way to and from the train. It's one of the first sings I see in the morning, and one of the last things I see at night. This little corner establishment at the bottom of my little hill tells the story of each season. In the summer, the long narrow windows open wide, the tables are set out neatly on the patio with umbrellas and the patrons sip on drinks with lemon garnishes. In the fall, they decorate the exterior with pumpkins, gourds and straw bails while the windows slowly close and the tables eventually disappear from the outside, leaving a warm cozy scene behind the glass to be viewed in passing. In the winter the patio is covered with snow and ice while warm light glows from the within the frosty windows as guests hold tightly glasses of mulled cider and hot buttered rum, toasting the the year's end and the new beginnings ahead. Then, finally, the spring comes and the windows begin to open again, flowers begin to appear in the window boxes and a hopefulness fills the air as the tables and chairs return outdoors on evenings when the rain decides to take a short rest. I have witnessed the passage of each season on my street corner as I hurry from place to place. A year has come and gone, and like this rather insignificant genre scene that I have grown to love in my daily life, I am still here, a tiny little piece of the big city, with no sign of eminent departure...

A year in New York City, and what a year it's been. Although it's been a difficult year in many respects, I never knew I could love a place so much. From my humble beginnings in the rural mountainous American-West, to my now even humbler lifestyle in the heights of upper Manhattan, I have learned that even a year in the Big City can't change the fact that on the inside, I'll always be a just a scrawny little ne're-do-well from the sticks, and happily so...

In my first year as a New Yorker, I really feel like I've packed in a great deal of that good "character-building" life experience that teachers in high school always warned me about. My search for steady employment, having no skills or useful education to offer, lead me to a number of rather peculiar occupational adventures throughout the city. I managed to be both hired and fired in the same month by a pair of narcissistic old queens living in Liberace's meth-addicted playland (a.k.a. their lovely home) where I had the distinct task of recording the quantity, frequency and consistency of their dog's bowel movements, and helping them reorganize their collections of sequined fabrics and other bedazzled costume accessories. I learned that one can survive on little more than hot dogs and water for extended lengths of time, and still look like a million bucks. After working for several months as a receptionist for very wealthy clients in a very "zen" environment, I was able to appreciate my mother's old saying that "money don't buy class" is shamefully very accurate. Through my stint in holiday retail on Fifth Avenue, I learned that just because one comes from Europe, doesn't necessarily mean they have any more taste, manners or good breeding than trailer park housewives in rural Florida (in which case specimens from both locales were available for empirical observation). I learned that working 75 hours per week for three months in a row between multiple jobs can easily make any person lose their grip on reality. Most importantly, I learned that any ruts one may fall into in terms of career or any other facet of life can easily be transplanted to a new situation, and even after promising oneself never to work in a certain field again or repeat any other sort of habitual behavior, sometimes it's easy enough to creep back into old familiar places, temporarily of course, just to find oneself there 9 months later with no end in sight... (strictly hypothetically speaking of course).

Even with all of my apparent character flaws and personality defects, I feel like the city has been good to me. Even on my worst days here, there is always some moment when the clouds seem to part and something wonderful is illuminated, reminding me why I came here and why I love it. There is an energy to the city that is so easy to become wrapped up in like a warm blanket, and there is a comfort in knowing that you never really can be very lonesome with 8 million other people all around you (many of whom are much more miserable than you will ever be, so really, just get over yourself and enjoy life!). I love that if there is anything you could possibly want to experience in the world, there is at least some little piece of it available in New York. After my first year here, I feel like I've only just begun to see and know all of the things I want in this place, and I still have so much before me that is just waiting to be discovered.

I am very grateful to be in a city that I find so inspiring. Although I do miss my mountains and my big blue skies of Colorado, and the rustic and bizarre way I grew up with my hippie parents out in the middle of nowhere, I'm learning that many analogous rules can be applied in both the wilderness and in the city. Learning to make something from nothing really has proven to be useful as I'm poorer now than I can ever remember being, and so I'm grateful to my parents for raising me so uniquely. I now feel it is appropriate to raise my glass and toast to my first year in the city, and to as many more as life sees fit to give me...