Three months. That’s what everyone told me when at about week two I started panicking and wanting to go home because the subway was too crowded, the streets were too dirty, and the noises were too loud. Apparently after three months you get used to New York City and those things magically just stop bothering you. As of today, I have been here three months and I will say there is definitely some truth to the three-month legend.
New York is a strange place. Often the center of movies and sitcoms, many people, including me, fantasize about living here one day – usually just like in media with a perfect apartment, a perfect friend group, and a perfect job. When I first visited New York City a couple of years ago I was in love. I spent an amazing week with my best friend exploring the city, doing the overpriced tourist traps, and eating delicious pizza. I could not imagine a more perfect place for me to live, so when the time came I did everything in my power to get myself across the country and move here.
The transition here was surprisingly smooth. I love my school, my roommate, and my apartment. I went out of my way to meet as many people as possible the past three months and have met some amazing friends in and out of my program at school. I even got the opportunity to meet Taylor Swift my favorite musician. From the surface the last three months have gone great – especially in terms of people’s experiences moving 3,000 miles away.
But for some reason, when I arrived in the city and actually started living here the high from my trip here two years ago was gone and my love for the city started to disappear. I had heard that New York City has a pretty extreme difference between the experiences of visiting and living here but I did not realize how real that was. I realized the exhaustion and reality of riding the subway everyday was actually really difficult. The noises at night, the dirt, the shear amount of people were constantly draining me. People would text me and ask me if I am thriving here and I never knew what to say. The first month was the hardest. I cried on the subway, I cried in a Starbucks, I cried outside a hotel. My poor roommate had to deal with my constant mood swings and breakdowns.
But now it’s been three months and something really has started to click. I can feel myself relaxing in the chaos, enjoying the city. The shear amount of people is starting to feel exciting. Taking the subway to class is starting to feel as comfortable as driving a car down the freeway between my hometown and college town in Oregon. The guy at the bodega on my corner who lets me pay with my card even if I am under the 10 dollar minimum feels like a familiar face now. Late nights laughing with friends and eating way too much pizza feels as much fun as being with friends at home. So to answer the question of those well-meaning messages from friends back home asking if I am thriving in New York the answer is no. But I am making myself at home here and finding my place in this city of 8 million people, so check back in with me in three more months.