We’re inching closer to the middle of February (and Valentine’s Day!), which reminds me: March 1st is the seven-year anniversary of the day I moved to New York. I still remember that weekend! My parents helped me pack my entire Beacon Hill studio apartment into the back of a U-Haul truck and we hit the road. Upon arrival, my roommate Gillian sketched out a map of NYC for me—with clear indications of which avenues went up and downtown and rough geometric blobs of which neighborhood led to the next. It’s hard to believe, but I had no idea! (Not to mention, I moved before smartphones were a thing.)
Recounting memories like this makes me think: How many years until you’re a true New Yorker? Everyone has different definitions, but I loved this one by Thought Catalog writer Jackie Berg:
“Aside from the born and bred, at what point during a journey does one become a New Yorker? … It happens when your outstretched hand on the promenade can trace the entire skyline with memories.”
What a beautiful thought! It’s also completely on point. Whenever I’m in a cab, places look familiar. When I walk down a neighborhood block, I think of that time I waited in line forever for brunch, that time I went on a terrible date or that time it started pouring and I had to run to the nearest subway, three streets away. It is strange to feel like I’ve covered so much ground in a city so big. In a city that was once so unfamiliar to me I needed someone to map out the directions of each avenue!
How long have you lived in New York? How do you define being a New Yorker? So curious!
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