Something Ado About Identity
You can feel lost. Most of the time it isn't about the specific location. The human ability to acclimate to its surroundings is awe-inspiring. What feels like an alien world, a strange land in weeks time can feel like a warm place with affection blooming from every street, corner, and human. I should know. I moved 2,000 miles across the continent to live in New York City from my Central Californian hometown.
That was my mission.
I told everyone that's where I was going after my first post-college job when asked, "So what are ya gunna do?" The reasons made sense when explained.
"My feisty, loving grandmother is from there. She has no fear of what society thinks. She is her own person. I want to be like that, so I'll move to her birthplace."
Or,
"When I walked the streets, I heard whispers. They were from skyscrapers. It wasn't a spoken language. It went straight to the heart, they said come."
Then again...
I have a suspicion that I just made those up. Something in cognitive science called a post-purchase rationalization. Like when you buy a car and then ascribe reasons to just how superb on the highway it is and just how the radio plays a crisp tune of the modern, repetitive pop songs. Much, much more crisp than the last car. Was I just making it up as I go with the same tune running through my head?
I lived in New York for two years and four months. In that time, I had two jobs, lived in three different places, and had a total of 11 different roommates. I lived, I loved. Or so I thought. I have left and returned home empty-handed. You see, I can't seem to find it. And no matter how much I look, directly or not. I cannot locate this indescribable object.
Repetition is the mother of skill they say. It's also a core of identity - also of things you love. Hey, the modern pop songs have something going for them. When away from the East Coast, what I kept telling everyone: "I live in New York. I work right by the Flatiron building. Let me tell you about the subway" is now a past chapter. It's gone. That piece is left empty, and I have nothing to fill it with.
I can guarantee you I didn't have a big head about it. For example, looking around the room, I head to the nearest crowd of acquaintances, tap my foot against the ground frivolously, appearing like I'm interested, and then finally when it's my turn, which I've been waiting for all along say, "Have you ever been to the Village? Do you know which part of New York I'm talking about?" A smug smile immediately follows. That was not me, I can assure you.
Yet, I felt a distinct pride when I would tell people of the nuances of living in America's most populous city. I'd get pleasure from others asking what's it like. You have to go I'd say. Trust me, you've got to experience it. Once, I told this to a barista I'll never see again in San Diego in February of 2019. She was young, probably 20. I wonder if she took my advice. Maybe she would have if a pandemic didn't come hurtling down on the US like a dinosaur-massacring meteor. But maybe not, she probably forgot.
New York was an adventure - a place where I could do cool things, meet interesting people, and find myself. At this moment I feel the exact opposite, timid more than ever. A piece of me has not healed. This is my attempt to make sense of it all, starting from a place of loss. I'm even at loss for what's missing, but at this moment the only thing I can do is write. The answers may come or not.
Maybe, this blog is my answer.
