Back before I moved to Columbia, I lived in New York City. I rode my bike down St. Nicholas every morning at 9 a.m. and worked as a volunteer coordinator for a nonprofit called Harlem RBI.
Most of my work was monotonous and involved sitting in front of a computer. But outside the office, Harlem buzzed. I rode down streets named Frederick Douglass with Puerto Rican flags strung up between street-facing apartment buildings.
I ate mangu con queso frito (fried cheese with mashed plantains) at La Carnita with out-of-town friends before we headed south to see the Brooklyn Bridge and the Highline.
My best friend, Prospero Herrera, and I rode our bikes everywhere. I felt like a teenager again. Everything in the city amazed me. We saw Rockefeller Center at Christmastime. We played frisbee in Brooklyn Bridge Park. And, since I wasn't actually a teenager, we went to a dive bar in Harlem called 'The Duck' to drink pitchers of Rolling Rock on Friday night.
I spent my Saturday mornings running north to Fort Tyron Park. From the crest of the park, I saw the George Washington Bridge and the New Jersey bluffs. The green side of New York always surprised. I always imaged the concrete and steel would overwhelm nature. Surprisingly, I found nature everywhere.
Many people will tell you that New York City is one of the most expensive cities in America. I think that it can be true. But, discounting my Peace Corps salary, I made the least amount of money of my professional life while living in New York City.
As a member of AmeriCorps, I received a weekly stipend of about $250. Somehow, I managed to survive. It wasn't easy. Once I came down with a sinus infection and had to pay for everything out of pocket. AmeriCorps does provide health insurance, but it is so basic that it will only cover life-threatening emergencies, which this sinus infection was thankfully not.
Six months after my late September arrival, spring arrived and the ground started to thaw. I stopped biking in my fleece face mask, packed away my gloves and washed my long underwear for the last time that season.
Spring in NYC is like a roller-coaster ride through all the possible weather patterns. Sunny mornings are followed by rainy afternoons. Thunderstorms roll in and out with surprising consistency. Undeterred from the wild weather, I continued to bike commute nearly everywhere. My bike tires spat street grit onto the back of my neon bike jacket and I would often arrive a work with a long, thin black line down my back.
Slowly summer arrived. I weaved seamlessly through New York traffic and had memorized many of the streets in my neighborhood. The thin black line of street grit was replaced by a strip of slick sweat. I replaced my yellow bike jacket with a black tank, pink Brooklyn bike hat (a birthday gift from Prospero) and sunglasses.
The train lines still eluded me and I often lost my way when I ventured underground. But that didn't stop me from venturing down the subway stairs and grabbing a free New York Post on my way down. I read op-eds until local politics started to become familiar. I recognized leaders in the news and felt comfortable in this city that once seemed to tower menacingly above me.
By June, I no longer felt like a tourist. I felt like New York had been my home all along and I didn't want to leave.
Part of what makes living in a place so great sometimes is knowing that your time is limited. This happened in Turkmenistan my last few months there. I savored every piece of manty (traditional Turkmen dumplings) like it would be my last. But it seems to me that all good things eventually come to end sometime. And I think that's what makes them so good.
I know that Harlem is still buzzing. The ground is freezing up right about now. Rockefeller Center is covered with lights. Prospero is biking like a madman through midtown.
Life is filled with mostly ordinary moments. But that's not what I remember best. I remember the bike rides through a torrential downpour and the endorphin-filled view from the crest of a hill I've never run before. I remember the Prosperos and the immense pleasure of finding new friendship in a new city.
Now that I'm in Columbia, I can't help but wonder what my next mangu con queso frito will be or who will be beside me when I have another Brooklyn Bridge moment.
Often times, these poignant memories do not even surface until I've already left. And, that's the reason I've always believed it is important to leave in the first place. Otherwise, how will I ever know what I would have missed?
Most of my work was monotonous and involved sitting in front of a computer. But outside the office, Harlem buzzed. I rode down streets named Frederick Douglass with Puerto Rican flags strung up between street-facing apartment buildings.
I ate mangu con queso frito (fried cheese with mashed plantains) at La Carnita with out-of-town friends before we headed south to see the Brooklyn Bridge and the Highline.
My best friend, Prospero Herrera, and I rode our bikes everywhere. I felt like a teenager again. Everything in the city amazed me. We saw Rockefeller Center at Christmastime. We played frisbee in Brooklyn Bridge Park. And, since I wasn't actually a teenager, we went to a dive bar in Harlem called 'The Duck' to drink pitchers of Rolling Rock on Friday night.
I spent my Saturday mornings running north to Fort Tyron Park. From the crest of the park, I saw the George Washington Bridge and the New Jersey bluffs. The green side of New York always surprised. I always imaged the concrete and steel would overwhelm nature. Surprisingly, I found nature everywhere.
Many people will tell you that New York City is one of the most expensive cities in America. I think that it can be true. But, discounting my Peace Corps salary, I made the least amount of money of my professional life while living in New York City.
As a member of AmeriCorps, I received a weekly stipend of about $250. Somehow, I managed to survive. It wasn't easy. Once I came down with a sinus infection and had to pay for everything out of pocket. AmeriCorps does provide health insurance, but it is so basic that it will only cover life-threatening emergencies, which this sinus infection was thankfully not.
Six months after my late September arrival, spring arrived and the ground started to thaw. I stopped biking in my fleece face mask, packed away my gloves and washed my long underwear for the last time that season.
Spring in NYC is like a roller-coaster ride through all the possible weather patterns. Sunny mornings are followed by rainy afternoons. Thunderstorms roll in and out with surprising consistency. Undeterred from the wild weather, I continued to bike commute nearly everywhere. My bike tires spat street grit onto the back of my neon bike jacket and I would often arrive a work with a long, thin black line down my back.
Slowly summer arrived. I weaved seamlessly through New York traffic and had memorized many of the streets in my neighborhood. The thin black line of street grit was replaced by a strip of slick sweat. I replaced my yellow bike jacket with a black tank, pink Brooklyn bike hat (a birthday gift from Prospero) and sunglasses.
The train lines still eluded me and I often lost my way when I ventured underground. But that didn't stop me from venturing down the subway stairs and grabbing a free New York Post on my way down. I read op-eds until local politics started to become familiar. I recognized leaders in the news and felt comfortable in this city that once seemed to tower menacingly above me.
By June, I no longer felt like a tourist. I felt like New York had been my home all along and I didn't want to leave.
Part of what makes living in a place so great sometimes is knowing that your time is limited. This happened in Turkmenistan my last few months there. I savored every piece of manty (traditional Turkmen dumplings) like it would be my last. But it seems to me that all good things eventually come to end sometime. And I think that's what makes them so good.
I know that Harlem is still buzzing. The ground is freezing up right about now. Rockefeller Center is covered with lights. Prospero is biking like a madman through midtown.
Life is filled with mostly ordinary moments. But that's not what I remember best. I remember the bike rides through a torrential downpour and the endorphin-filled view from the crest of a hill I've never run before. I remember the Prosperos and the immense pleasure of finding new friendship in a new city.
Now that I'm in Columbia, I can't help but wonder what my next mangu con queso frito will be or who will be beside me when I have another Brooklyn Bridge moment.
Often times, these poignant memories do not even surface until I've already left. And, that's the reason I've always believed it is important to leave in the first place. Otherwise, how will I ever know what I would have missed?
No comments:
Post a Comment