I'm Finally a New Yorker.
Today marks 10 years since I moved to New York. I'm just as surprised as you are.
According to THE New Yorker, you have to make it 10 years to be considered a New Yorker, which means as of today, I’ve officially made it.
When I moved to New York, I had no idea what I was getting myself into. I moved to Brooklyn with two massive duffel bags, $300 and a fellowship offer from AOL. My cousin picked me up at the airport in her four-door sedan, and we headed to my shoebox of an apartment on Pineapple Street in Brooklyn Heights. I bought an air mattress to sleep on that night and hoped for the best.
I didn’t even see my apartment in person before I signed for it, which is absolutely insane. But it seemed good enough. My future roommate was already living in New York, so she checked it out, and I signed the lease. When I first opened the door — after carrying my duffel bags up to the fifth floor — I was genuinely concerned that I wouldn’t be able to fit a bed in my tiny bedroom. I looked at my cousin with concern, she looked at me and said we’d figure it out, and we headed to dinner. We picked up a bottle of champagne on the way home, drank it on the roof and set up my air mattress on the floor of my bedroom. In that moment, I felt like a New Yorker.
After a few days of sleeping on the floor, I settled on a cheap mattress from Mattress Firm, and I made it work. The bed touched three walls, but I didn’t care. I was just happy to be there. The windows didn’t always shut all the way, so I often wore two pairs of socks to bed in the winter. A family of birds made a nest on my fire escape, and I thought it was sweet and charming. My “couch” was a glorified loveseat from IKEA, located less than four feet away from the fridge. The kitchen didn’t have an inch of counter space (or a dishwasher, but that’s very common for New York).
I must admit, I didn’t know how lucky I was to land in Brooklyn Heights until I got there. I had never visited the neighborhood, and I didn’t know what to expect, but I quickly fell in love. And I never fell out of love.
My first year in New York wasn’t an easy one, but it was wildly fun. I spent my days feeling thrilled yet confused, lost yet at home — meeting people and making new friends. Working hard. Learning how to take care of myself. Recovering from college heartbreak. I could barely afford to eat at restaurants, but I still found a way, and once a month, I’d treat myself to an ikura bowl at Lobster Place at Chelsea Market with the money I made from babysitting and transcribing interviews (this was before Otter AI existed).
After my six-month fellowship at AOL, I got a job at The New York Post, and in a matter of months, I had been moved to the Page Six team to work as an Editorial Assistant (eventually transitioning to a reporter role) from 2-10pm. The schedule totally threw me off, but I did everything I could to make the most of it, even if that meant going on a 10pm date near my office in Times Square.
I won’t walk you through my resume, but I will tell you that I’ve lived at least three lives in this city. I arrived deeply unaware of how it all would change me and become so ingrained in my being. I felt like I was moving here to live here — because I was — but I had no idea how much it would become a part of my identity.
I moved here excited, young, single, relentless, hardworking and ready for whatever came my way. I said yes to everything — especially those first few years — and met people who became part of my story, whether I knew them for minutes or years. I’ve cried on subways and street corners. I’ve grieved and celebrated. I’ve laughed with friends until three in the morning and stayed up until the sunrise (but only a few times because I love my sleep). I’ve fallen in and out of love with jobs and people. I’ve made friends who feel like family and friends who quickly proved that they weren’t real friends. I went on horrible first dates and wonderful first dates — and my last first date when I met my husband on my last day of work at The New York Post. I’ve lived in Manhattan and made my way back to Brooklyn, a place that feels more like home than anywhere I’ve ever lived.
About five years into living in New York, people seemed surprised when I told them I didn’t grow up here. In those moments, I felt like a New Yorker. But now that I’m 10 years in, I can officially hold the title with pride.
I love New York with every bone in my body, but it also drives me completely crazy.
I love how people who don’t live here don’t understand how I do it. I love how my neighborhood is really starting to feel like a community.
I love how I’m brainstorming ways to stay in my small, two-bedroom apartment even when I have kids because the location is so damn good. I love the restaurant that has become my second home and feels like a warm hug every time I walk through the door. I love when spring arrives and we all thaw out and remember why we decided to live here in the first place. I love the restaurants that are institutions and the new restaurants that immediately become new favorites.
The hard days have been deeply hard, but the beautiful days have been indescribable. And I wouldn’t trade any of it for another town or city because no place would feel like home the way Brooklyn does.
And while I’m hesitant to turn all of these feelings into a list, I think it’s important to reflect on my experience, and this feels like a solid way to do it. So, without further ado, these are 10 things I’ve learned from living in New York — and would share with anyone who is considering moving to this captivating and insane city.
Find a restaurant you love and become a regular. My neighborhood spot means everything to me. It’s a magical place that I know I can rely on, and the same people have been working there for 10 years. It’s become my “third place” and somewhere I know I can go if I want to celebrate or wallow in a hard day. I will love this place until the day I die, and if it ever closed, I would be completely devastated. I even mentioned it in my wedding vows.
Apply for the job you don’t feel qualified for. I applied for a job at Bloomberg while I was working at The New York Post, and I remember laughing to myself after submitting the application. When I got the job offer, I was shocked, and I almost didn’t accept it because I didn’t feel qualified. (By the way, if you’re not qualified, they won’t hire you. Don’t psych yourself out.) It ended up being one of the most incredible learning experiences of my life.
Seek out a hobby you connect with. I’ve always been a hobby girl. I’ve been painting and drawing my whole life, and I took it to another level in college when I decided to minor in fine arts and take studio art classes every semester. It’s important to stay attached to those little joys when you move to a big city — especially in New York where anything and everything you could ever want to do is available. I dove into ceramics a few years into living in New York, and I never looked back. I’m totally hooked on it. I also took a watercolor class at 92Y and got really into hot yoga for a while. If you don’t have something you love to do, try a bunch of activities until something clicks. It’s the best outlet.
Initiate quality time with people you want to be friends with. If you hit it off with someone, get vulnerable and give them your phone number. Yes, I know I sound like a Millennial because we all exchange Instagram handles now, but phone numbers are more intentional. It’s hard to find people you genuinely enjoy, and making friends isn’t easy. Be the person to initiate when you connect with someone. One moment can lead to a lifelong friendship. Now I sound like a pillow in the clearance section of Home Goods, but you know what I mean. Making adult friendships is hard, but it’s possible, and it’s really special when you start to build a community.
Take time to relax and remember that rest is valuable. When I first moved to New York, I wanted to do everything all the time, and I quickly realized that it was impossible (and I was exhausted). Say yes to things like dinners and trips and Broadway shows, but know that resting is just as important as putting yourself out there and having fun. If you don’t rest, you burn out, and then nothing is fun.
Be kind to yourself when you mess up. You’re going to mess up. You’re going to take the wrong train or screw up at work or say the wrong thing to somebody, and that’s okay. You might get too drunk and decide that maybe it’s better if you don’t drink at all. You may say yes to a second date you wish you said no to or hang out with someone who doesn’t make you feel like the best version of yourself — and that’s okay. You’re going to mess up, but it’s part of the process. You can’t grow if you never mess up.
Fall in love. Let yourself fall in love with people, jobs, neighborhoods, restaurants, a puppy you meet on the promenade who convinces you to get a dog of your own. It’s easy to feel like you need to be a hardened and impenetrable New Yorker, but life is less full that way. Trust me. Fall in love. Even if you get hurt — which you inevitably will, at least once — it’s worth it.
Let go of the idea of fitting in. New York is for everyone. It’s expensive. It’s hard. It’s not easy. But it’s for everyone. Once you let go of the idea of fitting in looking a certain way, acting a certain way, making the “right” decisions, the city opens up. Go to events that feel outside of your comfort zone, even if that means showing up alone. Wear something completely wild just because it makes you feel good. Sell your pottery on the street even if it feels like you’re running an adult lemonade stand. Decide to go freelance even though it feels completely scary and uncertain and not as “cool” as a “normal” media job.
Engage with your community. A transplant is a transplant, but making your neighborhood feel like a real community makes all the difference. Get to know the people who work at your local grocery store. Say hi to the strangers you keep seeing over and over again. Get involved in the community garden. Support small businesses and restaurants in your area. Go to the little street fairs and neighborhood events. Join a CSA or buy your produce at the farmers’ market if your neighborhood has one. Stop by the stoop sales and introduce yourself to your neighbors. It’s all very Mister Rogers, but we love Mister Rogers, don’t we?
Take time to pause and realize how far you’ve come. It’s really easy to get caught up in the day-to-day of living in New York. It’s really hard to pause and actually focus on the little things — but it is possible. I moved to New York with a lot of dreams, and I’ve managed to work my butt off and make them all come true, which is absolutely insane. Yes, I know that’s a bit eye-roll inducing, but you have to be your biggest cheerleader. You have to recognize your own growth and change and approach it all with gratitude. This city is impossible sometimes, but it is so damn beautiful, and I can’t imagine living anywhere else.
This turned into an essay about how much I love New York, but I can’t say I’m surprised. And I know I’m not the first (or last) writer to wax poetic about The City That Never Sleeps. But a place that once felt like a dream to me is now my forever home, and I can’t imagine living anywhere else.
I love you, New York. Here’s to a lifetime together. 🩷
I know ur feelings. My stay was brief - 3 years. Lived on Minetta lane and absolutely loved it. Reading ur experience made me miss it all
Wonderful place
Down to join a support group for people who keep getting asked “So when are you moving to the suburbs?”