On my first trip to New York City as a child, my sister and I stood at our hotel window, faces pressed to the glass, gazing down at tiny yellow cabs and even tinier people swarming the streets below. The city was deceivingly small to us from our lofty roost, but on the ground it seemed gigantic. On the street, we stared up at the buildings towering over us until we became dizzy and half-afraid that either they or we would topple over. Years later, at the age of sixteen, I moved to Manhattan from Virginia. I was determined to become an actress, so my parents, perhaps in a moment of temporary insanity, let me graduate high school early and leave home. I never had plans to attend college. It was not Columbia that brought me to New York.
I grew up in the woods. Our closest neighbor was a mile away, so we had no need for curtains. In the summer, with the windows open, I slept to the sound of cicadas and the slow rush of the river that ran through the forest beside our house. Needless to say, the traffic, the car alarms, and the garbage trucks at midnight all took some getting used to. As a first-time resident of the city, I lost the sense of wonder I had experienced in the hotel window as a child. Instead, that feeling was replaced by overwhelming uncertainty and isolation. I was ridiculously young to be living on my own and would often go for long stretches without speaking to anyone. Sometimes, I would show up for an audition, open my mouth to read, and be startled by the sound of my own voice.
It didn’t help that I was always moving. There were cat-sitting gigs uptown, closets with loft beds downtown, cheap sublets in New Jersey. I never stayed more than three months in one place, and I was afraid to commit to a lease because I was always dreaming about leaving. And eventually I did. I abandoned New York three times, occasionally for underwhelming film projects, but mostly because I wanted to go home. I remember one winter when my father was in town for a visit. We were having dinner at a noodle shop downtown, and I had this sudden realization that I needed to leave the city, that I didn’t belong there. After dinner, we walked back to the apartment where I was staying that month. My father helped me pack my bags, and we got on the next train to Virginia.
The last time I left New York City was in 2005, and I didn’t move back until a year and a half ago. I had just finished working on a film in Washington D.C. when I had another sudden realization—I didn’t want to do the whole acting thing anymore. I suppose it can be sad to say goodbye to a childhood dream, but for me it was liberating because, for the first time, I had no idea what I wanted to do. I took a job as a receptionist in my hometown, and without telling my friends or my parents, I started applying to colleges. I applied to twelve schools all over the country. One of them was in New York City—Columbia University School of General Studies.
So here I am again, back in the city for the fourth time, but for the first time, I feel like I belong here. After working for eight years, college is like an intellectual vacation, and the city, with its arts and culture, diversity and opportunity, has become the ideal backdrop for my new adventure. I’ve lived in the same apartment on the Upper West Side for over a year now, an impressive record in my book. In the morning, while I sip my tea or finish a reading for class, I sit at my kitchen window, which looks across to the windows of a hotel. Sleepy travelers appear from behind identical white curtains. As my sister and I did so many years ago, they stare down at the street, taking in the energy that awaits them on the ground. And there it is, that sense of wonder visiting me again, and I want to rush out my door, into this big, wild mess of a city.
I’m not sure if I am ready to call New York City my home, but it’s the closest thing I have to one at this point in my life. At night, the sirens no longer wake me. The rush of traffic lulls me to sleep. I’ve grown accustomed to the absence of stars, and while the parks will never replace my Virginia Mountains, they are a welcome substitute for now.
The author is a student in the School of General Studies.
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