Twenty-Something Year Old Journalist

While I expected New York to have been the one to change, I learned that New York is the exact same New York it was a year ago. 

It’s still way too cold outside and still way too many layers-needing, the ease of finding a legal dispensary is just too much work, I am constantly on-edge, the roaches, rats, and homeless still run rampant, the nightlife scene is still horrendous, and spending $8 for a coffee? (I say as I sip my $7.50 California coffee)

New York was still New York. And while I have workshopped many different ways to say this in the least corny and coming-of-age way, it was me that had changed. 

And that is that. 

I was expecting to come out of this East Coast trip with perhaps something of the comedically-on-the-nose list that satirizes New York in an impressive way, or maybe even a deep and insightful article about friendship, and growth, and time. 

I had even found myself at the most perfect places to awaken some when-Lena-Dunham-wrote-Girls or when-AIlana-Glazer-and-Abbi-Jacobson-created-Broad-City vibes. 

Most notably, a hipster coffee shop bustling with life, and a park bench in Central Park where I have briefly sat before. I would be in these places, in these moments, and think of how stupid I am that I didn’t throw my notebook in my bag. 

I would first have a brief moment of silence to honor the undoubtedly phenomenal pieces I could have created in these places if I had brought my notebook, but then I would just simply enjoy it myself. 

And between you and me, they were fantastic moments. 

They were fantastic moments where I was able to recognize and be proud of myself for how much I had grown the previous year. They were fantastic moments of gratitude for how lucky I am to be in New York and how grateful I am for the friends I have to enjoy it with (and how grateful I am to be able to crash on their couch). 

Through these fantastic moments at creatively inspiring locations, and even through my long awaited walks in Central Park, I kept trying to piece together this should-of-been acclaimed piece of art, but simply nothing felt right. 

At the end of the day, I just know I could’ve made some incredibly witty jokes about ending up at a bar called Ding-A-Ling, or walking past a park bench where I once shed tears on over a boy four years ago—yet here I am, still texting him. 

I probably could have made an awe-inspiring think piece about womanhood in the form of pregaming by watching Tate McRae music videos, hate-watching YouTube vlogs of former characters from your past, or forcing innocent wait staff to take pictures of you and your friends with an endless amount of cameras. 

But alas, all you get is me talking about how I did not write these things. 

All you get is me telling you that my trip was amazing, that lots of introspection occurred, and that despite my disdain for a lot of the features that make New York New York, it still manages to be one of my favorite places on planet Earth. 

Even after arriving back home I haven’t been able to articulate to others what made this trip so enjoyable. So, perhaps that will just have to stay between New York and I.