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I am coming up on my 37th birthday and my first year living in New York City.
I’ve lived a lot of lives in my almost four decades. I’ve moved, on average, once every year since I was 16. Some of that was in the quest for something new, some of it economic, some of it relational, some of it based on disasters. Country-hopping in my late teens. Four apartments in two years due to landlord shenanigans and my desperate search for greener grass. One apartment I would have loved to stay in, until they increased my rent 50% in one year. There was the garage but that was sold. There was a room with a view of my favorite mountain, but Covid. A house with three dear friends, but infatuation tricked me into giving that one up. Four other apartments since. Even for my generation, this is excessive.
Now, it’s a pre-war fourth floor walk-up in Queens, NY. When the super dropped off the lease renewal, there were two choices – one year or two. I signed for two years. It is the longest lease I will have ever had. It took two months to stop panicking about my decision. The thought of ‘settling down’ still makes my skin crawl even though I am tired of moving.
The apartment has no great view but plenty of light. The rent is predictable and the neighbors are nice. My cats are happy. There are books everywhere and art on the walls. Pictures of friends and family line the hallway. There are stacks of magazines and art supplies on the kitchen table, plants in the window sill, wine in the cupboard, and a homemade challah loaf on the counter.
It is exhilarating that I can step outside into NYC anytime I want. Anything I could want to experience is a train ride away. I live in the most diverse borough of the most diverse city in the country. It might be the most diverse place in the world. There could be more country-hopping in my future; for now, I can do it in my own neighborhood.
The days I am out in the city, even if my only activity is people-watching, doubt creeps in about whether I will ever leave. This city feels perfectly suited to my temperment. I was told over and over I wouldn’t like it as much as I thought I would, but I knew I would thrive here. People walk fast and don’t have time for small talk. They focus on being kind instead of polite. Contrary to what is said about big cities, it has the best sense of community of anywhere I’ve lived. There is enough novelty to keep the chemicals flowing in my brain. And as long as you aren’t hurting anyone, no one gives a single fuck what you do. I could be a different kind of person every day and it would phase no one.
It is also undeniable that I chose a perfect time to move here. I was early enough to help get Mamdani into office, and Summer 2026 is already one for the history books. I am getting to experience an NYC that is novel even for born-and-raised NYers. It’s been said by many that NYC often bans together in tragedy, and that this is a rare example of banning together in joy. The largest city in the country feels like a small town right now and we are outside.
New York City is exactly where I am supposed to be right now.
I wish I could tell my 16-year-old self that we achieved one of our biggest dreams.
Something that girl never anticipated, though, was somewhere along the way finding pride in being an Oregonian. I think it started when I moved to LA. I feel like an Oregonian no matter where I live now, rather than waiting and hoping to feel like something else. I’ve come to accept and embrace that I will always end up back in Oregon. It’s where I’m supposed to die. I find myself missing it deeply every day – my people, my trees, my rugged coast, my high desert, the rain, the plaid, the petrichor. My parents are taking my niblings to Enchanted Forest soon and I am envious. I want to go to a Timbers game. I want to yurt camp for Christmas and burn the used trees on the beach for New Year. I want to go backpacking and complain the whole time and then reflect on how incredible it was. I want to be with people who know me to my core, give them each a tight squeeze, and sit around and talk like I never left.
How does one put down deep stabilizing roots and experience everything the world can offer before it’s too late?
So, it’s a weird situation I find myself in, something I’ve never dealt with before – being completely in love with my life and the place I live, feeling a raging sense of homesickness at the same time, and wondering if there are other places I need to get lost for awhile. I have never wanted both the roots and the roaming but I do now. The tension makes me ache, but it’s the best kind of tension to wrestle with. This was the dream. I am living the life I always wanted to live. It is delicious.