I moved to New York City almost eight years ago from a little old place called Farmington, Utah. As a child, I dreamt of living in a place that was thriving. Even at the mention of New York City, I would grow starry-eyed and tongue-tied. I always imagined myself as a sassy, metropolitan woman, working at a demanding and powerful job, making a fat paycheck and wearing fabulous clothes.
Imagine my surprise when I stepped off the M10 bus in front of my brand new apartment on 107th street. My young self assumed I was moving to a glamorous building since it was right off Central Park West and my new roommates mentioned that we lived on the top floor so naturally, I assumed it was a penthouse. How could I be so lucky? And that’s when the record player came to a scratchy halt. My building smelled rather stale, my bedroom could hold only my twin blow up mattress and the only views I enjoyed were of the building next door and the airshaft covered in pigeon poop. But still, I vowed that I would conquer this city!
Well, after eight years of life as a New Yorker, I realize that I’ve only really conquered my four flights of stairs and my speed dial full of take out bodegas (they cancel each other out…right?) Maybe I’m not that high-powered woman and perhaps I’m a little naïve but that’s okay. Not all New York women are super heroes; in fact, a lot of us are still trying to figure out which way the subway is, although we’d never admit it.
Welcome to my world! Let’s explore the harsh yet hilarious realities of a naïve girl living in the Big City.