48: The New York Edition

I flew to New York on the day that Ted Kennedy was laid to rest.  I’ve pondered the meaning of this over the last 48 hours, and I have yet to come up with a sufficient metaphor.  I was so wrapped up in my impending travels that day that I didn’t even realize what was going on outside my small sphere until I made it to my gate.  Every paper was opened to Ted’s biopic pages, every TV was tuned to his services…and every face was pointed in his direction.  I flew to New York not just on the day Ted Kennedy was laid to rest, but at almost the exact moment.  Passengers had to be torn from the TV and prompted to board their departing plane, while somewhere in Washington, generations of Kennedys rose to speak in honor of their last remaining patriarch.  I flew to New York City to begin an entirely new chapter of my life on Saturday, and the story will always begin with “I flew to New York on the day Ted Kennedy was laid to rest.”

I think it takes a certain McGyver-esque nature to make any major move, but especially to a city like New York.  My first lesson has been that strength is the name of the game, and by strength, I mean muscles.  And by muscles, I mean help.  I had consolidated my life into two checkable suitcases and one carry-on, which totaled about 130-140lbs.  Well, I don’t even weigh that much, so I’ll let your imagination paint the picture of me hauling my stuff into the cab from the airport, out of the cab at my friend’s place, and up the two flights of stairs at my friends walk-up where I would be crashing for the night.  Like I said, strength (aka big strong men to help) will get you very far during a move like this.

Fast-forward through an evening of celebratory drinking and general revelry all across the village and lower east side, and I found myself hauling that same 100-plus pounds of luggage back down the two flights of stairs and into a cab to take me to my new digs down in Brooklyn.  They tell me that the primary difference between midwesterners and New Yorkers is that midwesterners are quick to trust.  I would be a walking embodiment of this theory, since I laid down a month’s rent and a month’s security deposit on an apartment I had never seen.   The anticipation in the cab ride over was unbearable with a hint of exhilarating.  How do you direct a cab driver to take you “home” when you’ve never been “home”?  Like any good New Yorker, I faked it, and we made it there with little miscommunication.

I’ll skip over the boring parts of my 48 hours in transition…like that part where I have no furniture…which I actually highly suggest, since it makes any apartment seem huge.   Also, there is that boring little part where water started dripping from my bedroom ceiling at approximately 3:00 a.m. on my first night in the place.   I was actually impressed by the accuracy of the whole thing…I was awoken by genuine Chinese water torture, as the drops fell right on my head — smack dab between the eyes.  It’s fine, though…when you are sleeping on an air mattress, it’s easy to just slide the bed to the other end of the room and go right back to sleep.  Then there was the mouse in the kitchen.  I say all this not to complain or to frighten you about the conditions of NYC, but rather out of genuine amusement.   I think adventures like this aren’t complete unless you have some bumps and bruises to prove the journey.  In the end, it all makes for a good story to tell.

Today is Monday, which means I have made it through the weekend of transit and transition, and I am now beginning a new week — full, no doubt, of cleaning, organizing, buying, fixing, and exploring.  Exploring was first on my list, so I let the water drip in my bedroom and packed my laptop in my bag to head out.  I hit a goldmine discovery without even walking a few blocks.  On Lincoln Road, near the lower end of Prospect Park in Brooklyn, is a great little coffee shop called KDog and Dunebuggy.  It is bright and whimsical, immediately reminding me of my favorite coffee shop, Pleasant Perk, back home.  They have a full menu of coffee drinks and treats, as well as a lunch menu of sandwiches and salads.  I’m also told they have the best vegan cupcakes around, though I was too love-drunk with my surroundings to give them a shot.  KDog offers free Wi-Fi and great little nooks to cozy up in.  I’m pretty sure everyone here is a writer.  We all have our various generations of Macs out and appear to be deeply perplexed by the blank pages before us, or engrossed in the entrapments of some brilliant metaphor.  But then a young mother walks in with an adorable baby, and you can’t help but look.  And a woman covered in tattoos and piercings is laughing and cooing at the baby, while some hip young artists take their cigarettes outside and joke with the baristas through the bay windows.  A charmingly good-looking young guy walks in…followed by his equally charming girlfriend.  Oh well, better luck with the next guy.  There are older couples sitting reading the paper, while young 20-somethings catch a quick bite with friends before heading off on their daily routine.

As all these different people are coming and going, in and out of the café doors, I must look like a kid at Christmas sitting behind my little computer screen.  This kind of thing is my version of heaven.  I know I’ll never be able to come here to get any real work done…I can’t help myself from watching the bustle of people around me.  This is a genuine neighborhood coffee shop.  The people seem to know each other as more than neighbors — more than friends even…which brings me to the newest lesson I’ve learned in my brief time here: New York, I believe, becomes a town about survival.  It’s do or die.  Some people handle this by flipping up their coat collars and hurrying past the people around them, afraid to get vulnerable, afraid of what harm may come to them if they let even an inch of their guard down.  Then there are those people who choose instead to cling desperately to each other and gain power and strength in numbers — the desperation and necessity of community.  I am of the latter, always have been and always will be.   If this little coffee sanctuary is even a glimpse into my new neighborhood’s vibe, then I know I’m in the right place.

Let it be known that I don’t claim to be a New Yorker in any sense of the word.  I’m a Cincinnati gal that picked up and moved to the big city.  I am every kind of cliché.  But call me crazy, I think my outside perspective gives me new eyes by which to see and discover this city.  Maybe I will find things that you Native New Yorkers would have missed or even had forgotten about.  Either way, old or new, there is always a story to tell.  Mine began with a funeral, continued with a leak and a mouse, and has an ending unknown…though I think it will have something to do with this coffee shop, since I don’t think I’ll ever leave.