Some days, while grocery shopping, running to catch the train, walking through a crowded street corner while trying not to spill coffee,  or carrying out some other normal task, my mind takes drifts from reality and I think – “How did I get here?” It only takes a second for my brain to remind me that somewhere across the world at this very moment, another person is waking up in the middle of the night, still dreaming of getting out of their small town, dropping everything and heading to New York City. Ten months ago, that was me. Now, when I take a step back and observe myself from the outside, I can only think how strange it is that I am where I am, doing whatever it is that I am doing.

For years now, I’ve looked at the city and wanted only to be a part of it. I was never one for day trips, or vacation here. I wanted to be a working cog in this beautiful place – for all this busyness and jadedness and chaos to be normal, and to be a little fish in the almost radioactive Hudson river.

Living in New York feels real, and I love it. I hate the train delays, I hate the muggy summers, I hate the black sludge snow, and yet, there is absolutely no where else that I’d rather be right now. All of its problems and all of its distractions are a constant reminder that there’s more to life than whatever I’m doing right now.

So when I think about that person on the other side of the world, wondering about what’s happening in this city right now, I find it so strange and wonderful to also think that I’m here, lucky to be experiencing it, and all at the same time, complaining about rent.

Isabel