Two Tales of a City, Part II: Crazier Than the Crazy People

Apologies for the delay! I had forgotten my flash drive at Amanda's the other night and just got back from our family reunion in New Hampshire.

Song of the day: Paper Doll by John Mayer

There’s a thing about crazy people, in that they never learn their lessons. Not really, at any rate. There is no doubt in my mind that, as far as crazy people go, I’m as nuts as they come.

I, of course, failed to live up to my word that I would never return to New York. By March, I had received an invitation from a couple of friends to come down. My friend Patrick had just returned from a year away in Australia and we had to reunite. I was at first reluctant – not because I didn’t want to see Patrick, but because I wasn’t sure what New York would have to offer. However, for his sake, I wrestled down my fear and came.

It was made easier by the fact that my buddy picked me up at the Rhinecliff Station (which is right next to Bard, another source of excitement and anxiety for me) and we drove the rest of the way down. Even so, when we were driving on the roads that ran around the City, I felt my heart begin to pound with anticipation. Somehow I was excited to be returning? How? I thought Remember the lady. Remember the lady in the gray hoodie. You don’t want to be here.

But I did. I wanted to be there so badly that it ached. The result was that my mood lifted more and more with each mile closer we drew. Even the hassle that is figuring out parking (poor Patrick) was fun in its own way. I also wasn’t driving, and everything is more fun in New York when you’re not driving.

It was a grand visit. Our friend Eileen showed us a bookstore called The Strand, which is heaven for a writer/reader like me. She also took us to a comicbook/superhero shop that was overflowing with awesome never-before-seen-and-wildly-expensive things. Then on the last night, we went to karaoke, which included all you could drink, and I tore my throat out hollering along to such classics like Bohemian Rhapsody and Eye of the Tiger, and other such lesser known things like anything written by Erasure. I actually didn’t take pictures, which made the trip more memorable for me. Who’da thunkit?

I wasn’t as entirely, purely, irrationally enamored with the City as I used to be, but I actually think that that’s for the best. I had a more cautious approach, which, again, I think is for the best. All the same, I was happy to be there, and sad when the time came to go. But of course I had to return to Albany, to work and to the real world. And I moved on with life, still firm in my decision that moving to New York was not the right choice for me.

Of course I was lying to myself, because when you know deep down that something would be good for you, you don’t easily forget it.

Then came the events that triggered my desire to write this two-part post to begin with. Last week I went with my youth group to New Jersey in order to work on Hurricane Sandy Relief. It was a noble goal, and one that I was happy to be a part of. The day before I was set to leave on the trip, my dad got into a horrible biking accident and, instead of spending the day preparing for my trip, I spent the day sitting in the hospital. That weekend, due to the hectic nature of everything that was going on, I decided not to leave until Monday. Instead of ferrying a few of the youth group to Jersey in my car, I was alone; just me and my music and my thoughts.

As I crossed over the border to New Jersey, I was driving up a hill and caught a most unexpected sight through a gap in the trees – the New York City skyline. Having not been there in a long time, and having not been there in the summer since that summer between junior and senior year at Bard, a flood of memories, ideas and thoughts drummed my head. I said out loud: “God I wish I were there right now.” And it wasn’t a simple wish to be visiting. I wished that I could actually be dwelling in the City.

“But Tom,” I reminded myself sternly, “don’t you forget that crazy lady with the books, or the tooth lady with the teeth, or the crowds of people with the elbows that get extra pointy when shoved in your ribs.”

And I said to myself: “Self, I totally remember those things. Those things sucked.”

And Self replied: “Then don’t even think on it, dude.”

“Now, hold the phone. I totally remember those things, really I do. I know that living in the City brings with it crowds and crazy people and ridiculously expensive things and difficulties. But still…”

“Shut it. Don’t even go there.”

“It’s New York City!”

“There are other cities. Don’t get all infatuated with this one just because you have good memories here. Don’t try to move here just to pursue an idyllic image.”

“’Snot about that…”

“Liarface.”

So the rest of the week, I didn’t let myself even think about NYC, or the fact that I was less than an hour away from it. Waxing nostalgic would not be good for my happiness and health while I was supposed to be helping make people’s lives better. I will be posting about this week away in the near future, just as I will be posting about City of Heroes, but this is not that post.

By the end of the week, I had all but forgotten about my far-off view of the skyline. When I drove back, all I was thinking about was getting out of New Jersey, because I had had it with driving there. The phrase “jug handles” sends shivers down my spine and triggers full-blown PTSD panic attacks.

We must have driven back a different way than we came down – I was on I-95 on the way back, and had taken the Garden State Parkway down. Though I wasn’t to realize I was taking a different direction for some time.

See, I had expected that I wouldn’t even see the City, save for in my rearview mirror, and that it would be a momentary view of the skyline before I rounded the bend into Mahwah. However, I-95 doesn’t take the far away route that I thought it did, and when we rounded a bend, we were not in Mahwah, but rather a stone’s throw away from New York City. Seriously, if I hadn’t had a group of kids in my car (or, even more importantly, if I hadn’t been driving my pastor’s car), I might have taken the first exit possible and gone in to pay a visit to my sister. Maybe I would have called a few friends to see if I could see them as well. At the very least I would have gone to the nice coffee shop at Times Square (the one that’s not Starbucks; they’re rare, but they exist).

Self piped up right away: “C’mon Tom, you hate the City now, don’t you?”

“False. I hate certain aspects of the City, and I don’t even really hate those aspects – I’m more afraid of them.”

“Very manly of you.”

“Shut up, Self.”

Here is the reality of what I’ve been feeling: I love the City. It’s not exactly the view of it I had before. I know that the City has its flaws and its dark side. I know that the City has crazy people who might hurt me (or possibly spread rabies) if I get too close. I even understand that the City is astronomically expensive. I understand that the City is not the cleanest of places, and that it gets crowded sometimes and makes people anxious. I even know about the existence of FOMO, aka Fear Of Missing Out. I even acknowledge that the reason I have the love of the City that I have is probably due to good experiences there.

But in spite of all of that, I love the City. Plain and simple. You will find crazy people everywhere. Every city has crowds. Not every city has NYC’s MTA system, which is an awesome system that other cities (cough, Albany, cough) ought to try replicating. Most cities are pretty darn expensive (though New York is admittedly even on the expensive side in that situation). Yet I genuinely believe that New York is beautiful. The view from Julie’s apartment of the N Train’s suspended track is one of the coolest I’ve ever seen. The view I get of the City in general while I walk through the streets is pretty amazing. It’s a hectic, frantic, insane, busy, beautifully delightfully wonderfully cool place.

There are people I love in the City – people who are dear to me and have been important in helping shape and guide who I am today, for better or for worse. I’ve fallen regrettably out of touch with many of these people – an error I hope to rectify, and one that I’ve been working to rectify in recent times.

So, in spite of everything, or maybe because of everything, I still wish to move to the City. Getting Amanda totally on board with the idea is something I’m working toward. I think I’m making headway; she doesn’t say “no” quite as ferociously anymore – in fact she doesn’t say “no” as much at all. Progress? Or perhaps she’s humoring me, and will correct my presumptuousness when she reads this post.

I want to move to New York, even though I know I’ll encounter madness. I want to move to the City, even though I know it will require me to find work that pays enough to afford a reasonably sized living space (have to acknowledge now that reasonably sized living spaces are hard to find at reasonable prices). I even have an idea of the neighborhoods I’d like to live in – namely the two aforementioned ones that I am well familiar with – though I’m pretty openminded on that front.

I heard somewhere that there’s actual artist housing in the City, which is a really neat idea. The idea behind it is that the National Endowment for the Arts (NEA) backs up these artistic complexes and helps make affordable housing at realistic prices for people who are in the arts. That would be cool because then I might be in an environment that can encourage me to work on my writing, drawing, cello and singing. I’m currently in search of these elusive places – not seriously as I will need the next almost-year to get the money around to even consider moving down there. But I’m getting way ahead of myself.

The point of this whole post is this: it is so easy to find reasons not to do something. Find something to do, and then find reasons not to do it – you’d be surprised how long the “cons” laundry list grows for something as simple as, say, taking a walk. However, at the end of the day, I would so much rather say “well, that sucked,” than say “well that could have been awesome if I’d done it.” I’ve spoken with a lot of people who live and work in NYC, and the reviews go both ways. How it goes depends a lot on the perspective. I know that I could move to the City and realize that it was a horrible decision. But I also know I could move to the City and realize that it was the best thing I could have done.

It works this way with anything. If there’s anything that you know could be (or even would be) right for you – be it moving to a big city, starting/ending/rekindling/redefining a relationship, quitting your job, quitting school, standing up for yourself, changing majors, returning to school – then take the leap. What’s the worst that could happen? Things continue as usual? It turns out to be a mistake and you learn more about yourself in the process? Life gets better? Happiness ensues? You can never know until you take a shot.

I’ve spent a lot of my life being cautious, and giving into fear. I’m a hypochondriac for crying out loud – a twinge in my stomach means certain death to me! Beyond that I am cautious in every aspect of my life – you name it and I can tell you how I’m so very careful – for fear of rocking the boat and upsetting some sort of status quo. I’ve gotten tired of being paralyzed by fear, and I genuinely believe that now is the time to be taking leaps and breaking the pattern.

            Either that or I’m even crazier than the tooth spitting lady, which is entirely probable.