15 years ago there was no Facebook, no iPhones. Hashtags were called “the pound sign.” 15 years ago, if I was out for the night and needed the address of a bar I was supposed to go to, I called 411. My cellphone was a Nokia paperweight with a battery that died in an hour. I taped “Friends” on my VCR, “Sex and the City” seemed like an attainable existence, and I was just starting to realize Carrie might be the worst best girlfriend. My email provider was Hotmail and I checked it only on my computer during the day. 15 years ago, cabs didn’t take credit cards so you always needed to carry some cash, the subway fare was $1.50, and I never had enough money for cabs but took them anyway. I took pictures on my Fuji digital camera, they went up on Snapfish, and I had them printed. 15 years ago, I could sleep until Noon and function hungover at work. People texted less. In fact, I don’t think I texted at all. I think I thought it was pretentious. I text all the time now and I love Instagram. These are the things I remember.
Nostalgia is a funny, deceptive thing. It feels like a new drink you discover but kind of recognize. It’s warm, comforting, and unbelievably satisfying. And, it is painful. No one ever says that but it hurts. 15 years later I find myself wading in memories a lot more than before. Fond memories of a time when my city was “The City”. A time when my biggest concern was covering my rent, where I was going out this weekend, who I was meeting, how to make a $25 bank account balance last two weeks, and most importantly, avoiding getting married because I was at the “right age.” A time before I could imagine the worst thing that could happen or the best (and worst) of humanity in the citizens of a city. I sometimes miss that girl.
I love New York. I have always loved New York. I fell in love as a young girl. Growing right across the river, seeing that skyline almost everyday it held endless possibility for me. I dreamt I would fall in love in the city one day. I dreamt I would have this amazing high-powered career. In high school, during gym class, if we we had to run I could only hope it was not on the track and rather, “cross-country” through our town so we could run alongside the cliffs and the skyline, because I was going to live there one day. New York City was going to be to be the start of my story. It’s very Tess McGill/Working Girl but still, accurate.
I did end up living there, living here. I still live here. I was here that day. You are supposed to gain some wisdom as you get older, or so people tell me. 15 years of additional insight. I’m not sure. The city tested my love, my devotion and continues to do so. I have fallen in and out of love with people, been loved, made colossal mistakes, had to reinvent myself, lost friends, made new ones, learned some were never really friends, and learned to forgive. Gotten better at identifying the real relationships and keeping them close while letting go of others. I have seen the the brightest of our collective humanity when it is darkest. I have felt a fear I cannot name or want to feel again when sending my brother off to war. Watched my parents get older, turn into grandparents, and understand them more. I have also felt my heart crack open with love in a way I didn’t think possible with the births of my nephew and my niece. I care more deeply now I think (I hope), and give less of a fuck.
Five years ago at the 10 year mark, I said I was grateful for my very extra, ordinary life. At 15 years I think it’s the same but there is a weariness. A familiar dull ache that plagues me, quite frankly. While none of us will ever forget that day I do fear we, that I, will remember less the lessons of the days and years that followed. So, maybe that’s for me to work on. What’s for sure is that 15 years later I still love New York as much as that girl running along the cliffs, and if possible - more. I hope to always love that much and to do better because your skyline continues to inspire and take my breath away.
“And love don’t play any games with me
Anymore like she did before
The world won’t wait, so I better shake
That thing right out there through the door
Hell, I still love you, New York“ - Ryan Adams, “New York, New York”
(photo: http://letmeseethesmileonyourface.tumblr.com/)
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