ya don't know what ya don't know

i was in new york last week and built in some time to walk around the east village, my very first neighborhood! astor place was my first subway stop! i know! a real fun fact about me. on july 4, 2002, i arrived via a one-way airtran (RIP) ticket with a large suitcase and a small suitcase, and somehow made my way to my new digs: 6th street between 2nd and 3rd, near mcsorley’s if that helps.

my friend and i were going to get our own place, but i needed to go ahead and get going at work (i transferred with my atlanta company- thanks again, robyn and i-ling) and so she had sort of worked out a temporary place for me to- quite literally as there was not room for much else- lay my head. it was post-9/11 and the airline industry had put tons of people on furlough, therefore a room had opened up in an east village apartment where she knew some flight attendants and delta employees looking to keep their spot but sublet for a bit. it was next to a barber shop with an odd landlord/owner type who sunbathed with no shirt out front. there was one room (mine) that looked out over the air shaft between our building and the next one over. it had a single bed and that’s kind of all i remember. i think i kept my clothes in the suitcases and just got dressed directly from them. there was another room (!) in the back that was larger and had SEVERAL sets of bunk beds for the flight attendants to come and go. just FYI this was known as a crash pad! i am sure today, i would have taken one look at it and thought: “human trafficking happens here.”

it is sort of blurry, i don’t really remember the other people who lived there, and i did NOT share the full details with my family (i am pretty sure anna gave me a rape whistle for christmas later that year), but i was so new to new york that i wasn’t even wearing flats for commuting yet, so like, what did i know/care? it may have been a month? or two? unclear. i guess my parents thought: she’ll figure it out? cade was in midtown corporate housing with central air if the going got tough, after all.

now, listen, i am particular. i like my things. i will put picture frames on an open floor plan shared desk as if it is completely normal. i later brought up that spool bed of aunt alice’s she had “loaned” my parents because i liked the look of it and it reminded me of home despite having to jack it up on those blocks to create storage space underneath (21” drop bed skirt and you’re fine). i also later had to deal with “returning” the bed just as my mother warned me i would. so, i do not contend that i was cool with backpack living. (a bowfront chest also moved to new york). i wanted to get settled and move on from the crash pad, but knowing this was temporary, my ann taylor suits and i were perfectly happy coming and going from this spot for a while. (and obvs i brought my own sheets)

i mean, it’s sort of wild when you think about it, the things we do when we don’t really have a ton of experience or options. some of the young people in my life are embarking on new things lately, stretching outside their comfort zones, and i find myself SO FULL of empathy. what did i know? not much. my friend up there really helped me in those earliest days because she had been there for about a minute longer than me, and lori and shannon at work were “older” and knew things. my roommate really wanted to be in the east village- she walked to work and had gotten to know the area. ok! that’s fine! sounds good to me! we settled on 10th between first and second, near the 2nd avenue deli (another RIP) and we had that 10th street lounge (anyone!!!???) beneath us. way beneath us, as the apartment was on the 6th floor of a 6th floor walk up. the $5 ATM was closeby, the village farm bodega always had tulips, and there was always a cab on third near the triangle. sign me up!

my dad definitely helped me with our broker fee and deposit, and then my parents, god love them, rented a u-haul and packed up the things i had designated for my new york life when i left georgia (and my ‘91 teal honda accord with sunroof and electric seatbelts) behind in july. i am so crazy that of course packed in the boxes we bought from raymond’s store on president street were silver frames, low country artwork, and more nine west shoes than any human could have needed. my mom and dad DROVE from georgia, and spent their 26th wedding anniversary in newark, nj, before driving into the city for the big unload on 10th street the next morning. they were such wonderful people.

new york tales are the business of anyone who has lived there for even just a summer internship. mine aren’t special, but gosh, they make you think about things. to give a child the idea she can do anything and live anywhere, but also grant her the parameters to help her build her own life and independence as she grows into herself and the life she chooses…that is hard to do. to teach a kid to remember their manners even in a culture that values it less than they were led to believe it would…takes a foundation that began from the MINUTE the child was born and never let up. i think now: what did they do? why do i remember the things i do? did they know what would stick? what wouldn’t, but would come back eventually? how can mason do it, too? i rejected many things in my 20s that now bring me comfort. i was BUTT-HEADED and became semi-professional at eating crow. but, gosh, they loved me. and they laughed with me. i am of course learning now they also laughed AT me. my parents made me feel valued, like my own person, and like they were my biggest cheerleaders, proud of every big, small, and often stupid step i made. they pushed me and comforted me in equal measure and did not even make me feel bad when i told them i racked up some charges on ye olde bloomingdale’s card i needed a little help with. dressing for the job you want not the job you had, turns out, often came with complications of salary gap.

could they have done a lot of stuff FOR me? some of it, yes. would it have caused them less heartbreak or as the youth say now “CRINGE” to pipe up at more turns and offer their input on my choices? surely. but they didn’t. they let me figure things out at my own pace, in my own time, and made me feel seen and heard when they watched me struggle as well as when it all clicked into place. they were always there to help with (but not fully cover) first and last month’s rent regardless of what might have been happening in their own bank accounts. i was naive, cocky, emboldened and annoying. but i was also appreciative, and took time to communicate that to them. reading the letters and notes they saved from me during those years helps my grief today, because they knew that i got it. i knew how lucky i was then. and now.

i can’t believe the things i didn’t know! and that makes it easier to observe and support these bright young things embarking on new horizons today. i will forever be grateful to have been what e.b. white called the third type of new yorker. but more lasting than that, turns out, are the people who rooted me on when i put the city at the center of my universe, and also applauded and loved me when it was time to leave. thank you! and parents, help with the security deposit if ya can.

thanks, as always, for reading. 🍎 😇😇