A friend of mine spent her first year out of college living in Queens, doing social work with the Good Shepherd Volunteer program. She didn't love New York the way some people do; of course there were things she liked about it, but she always kind of knew that she would ultimately end up back in the Midwest and live most of her life there.
So she finished her first year and I was hoping so hard that she would stay a little longer on the East Coast. Give the city a second chance.
And she did. She moved to Brooklyn and enjoyed doing the hipster thing for awhile. I went up once to visit her in the second year and we had a really nice time. Sitting in a cafe called the Milk Bar, we talked about what makes people come to New York, and what makes them stay.
She said she stayed because she felt like New York had given her a hard time in the first year, and that she couldn't leave until she had "conquered New York." I laughed and said good luck.
I didn't make it up to see her again for the next few months, and then suddenly after some time had passed I got a postcard from San Francisco saying, "I got mugged in Oakland, but I still think I really want to move here."
A little while later I heard through the grapevine that she had left New York for good, and soon after that I got a postcard from Montana that said, "I realized I never told you I was leaving New York. I'm going to try my luck on the West Coast. I'm moving to San Francisco."
We haven't talked about it, but I have a strange feeling about the whole thing. I don't get the impression that she "conquered" New York, at least not in the way she meant it when she first said it to me; but I also don't get the impression that she gave up, and let the city win. My feeling is that it was some unusual version of stalemate. I picture the two of them standing nose to nose, like in an old Western, shaking hands. My friend saying squarely, "I win, New York. I'm not going to find what I was looking for here." And New York replying, "It's been an honor, a good fight. I'm gonna let you go easy."
* * * * * * *
My current roommate wasn't wild about the house we're living in; it was too old, and too "city" (she's a rolling hills kind of girl), and too close to the bad part of town.
At the time we signed the lease, she was dating a Delaware boy. When he found out we were choosing a house in Little Italy, he said, "Oh, my dad's best friend used to live in Little Italy. I pretty much grew up there. What street is it on?" And when he found out the street, "That's the street! What block? What number?"
Turns out, it was the same house. The first time he came over he said, "I know this knocker." It's a classic door knocker, with a classic Italian last name engraved on it. "This is the house. I helped my dad remodel the downstairs bathroom. He planted that fig tree!" He ran outside, plucked a fig off the tree and bit into it. "There's a picture of me on the fridge at home standing in this kitchen!"
So she felt better about the house, and I felt less guilty about muscling her into it. We went out in the area, walked to restaurants and bars, drove to the ones that were a little farther away but still close, because we are in the city. She was OK with the house because he was OK with the house, and she was OK with him (to put it one way).
But then, a few months later, it ended, and we still had the lease. And now the house has ghosts in it. The kitchen, along with the ghosts of past dinners and desserts and especially casseroles, is home to a ghost like an old photograph of a little Italian boy standing in the corner, smiling.
* * * * * * *
I am stubborn. I have always been stubborn. Before I'd even started school I was tethering myself to chairs I didn't want to get out of, a tactic borrowed from a girl I saw in a movie once. I have sort of learned to pick my battles by this point in my life, but still I don't give up on things easily, and I have been known on more than one occasion to hold on a little too long and a little too hard to something it would be better to give up on.
I've been thinking a lot about this "conquering" thing lately, because I've hit another wave of underdoggery, of feeling bested by my circumstances. I have developed a bad habit of remembering things I haven't seen in awhile, and automatically assuming that they were among my worthless stolen goods. And by "worthless," as I'm sure you can guess, I actually mean invaluable. I am perpetually suspicious. My heart beats faster when I miss a phone call, because I am sure that the only reason for a phone call is an urgent report of bad news. I don't trust my city or my neighborhood anymore, and that makes me angry and sad. Actually, there's a lot I don't trust anymore.
Lately I've been itching for a change. I'm taking stock of "for rent" signs in different neighborhoods, decorating the walls, and last weekend I finally cut my hair... But I'm not quite there yet. I can't bring myself to cut and run when my stock drops, as it were; I have to stick around until I'm leaving with a fair trade, where I come out richer than I went in, in at least one way. And oddly, not at the expense of my "opponent." I feel no inclination to cheat. I am a stubborn believer in win-win situations, and if I find myself in a lose-lose situation or a situation with a clear winner and loser I'm convinced that the players just didn't try hard enough. Sometimes, if I'm lucky, I can even make a win-win out of a game with an opponent who doesn't care to try for it.
So you can see how I put myself in these impossible positions. It's just how I do things.
* * * * * * *
You've heard this story before. I have a friend who went to my high school in Upstate New York, who got offered a gateway dream job out in Seattle. He messaged me to ask for advice on starting something new and completely unfamiliar, all by himself.
I must have given him good advice, or maybe he's just incredibly smart/tough/has a really high risk tolerance, because he now ranks among the most fun, the most successful, most interesting. He is eternally positive, always doing and seeing something new and wonderful. He has thrown himself into everything that has come to face him, and it puffs up my chest just knowing that I know this guy.
I don't think we have to be CEOs, owners of beautiful houses, in the best shape of our lives, season ticket holders, and invited to all the best parties to be successful conquistadors. All I want is not to get stuck. I need to keep moving forward. I may not have much in the way of liquid assets, but when I look inside at what I have at the end of every day I want to feel like a richer, more interesting, better equipped human being, with something left over to pass on.
* * * * * * *Like second set of baby steps on Facebook at www.Facebook.com/theBabyStepsSaga! New posts show up there first, plus other articles about post-grad life, plus teasers and other important information. Thanks for reading! Tune in on Sunday night for this week's All Good Things list, and next Wednesday for a guest post about being a "new adult."
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