Madrid also tapped into a desire that had been bubbling underthe surface for far too long. I yearned to live in a metropolis where I couldget falafel at 4 in the morning, see an avant-garde film on a Wednesdayafternoon and, in general, feel completely inspired by the energy around me.Hence, the decision to pack up after a lifetime in Wisconsin, ditch thesocial-work field and head to another big city (this time, stateside) to startall over.
I found myself in New York City as of Oct. 2, 2007. Although Idesperately wanted to fling that social-worker hat far from my head,I still enjoyed working with kids.In my ambitious new attempt to explorecreative outlets, I interned for free at a children's television productioncompany in downtown Manhattan.Assisting a well-known child psychologist, I helped test programming bycoordinating research sessions of preschoolers. In addition, I paid the billsby baby-sitting and doling out triple espressos to jittery brokers at a WallStreet Starbucks while desperately trying to forget that I was a 31-year-oldwith a master's degree.
Finding my role at the production companybelittling, vastly uncreative andridiculously stressful (at least in child welfare, it's warranted!), I happilymoved on after my three months were up. Since then, I've transitioned towriting, though the nanny gig remains. My skill set has changed from writingcourt reports and assessing child safety to navigating a 30-pound stroller up abrownstone and reacquainting myself with the proper use of apostrophes.
It's a trade I'll gladly accept due to the fantasticflexible schedule. However,free-lancing does go against thegrain of practical, Midwestern living, especially when a job falls through andyou are left wondering just how long you can sustain yourself on rice and eggconcoctions.
Trying to maintain asocial life on a meager wage in one of the most expensive cities in the worldis a whole other ball of wax. One night, while picking up a sixer of High Lifeon my way to a friend's house, I was most unprepared for the $9 asked of me atthe counter. “Do you know where I'm from?” I almost screamed.“This is beerfor the common man! Sacrilege!” Instead, I just huffed a little and bought abottle of Italian wine. Sorry, Milwaukee.
And speaking of being poverty-stricken, finding anaffordable, safe place to live that is also free of bedbugs and crazy roommatesis a major feat in itself. After a harrowing search in three of the fiveboroughs, I managed to secure my current Brooklynresidence with a lovely, sane 30-something.An absolute steal, we pay a total of $1,500 for a large two-bedroom (albeit 40minutes from Manhattan).As my Milwaukee friends buy adorable four-bedroom bungalows around the $125,000mark, my financially stable Brooklyn buddies cannot afford the $500,000 for atwo-bedroom in a three-story walk-up. What could you buy in Milwaukee for that price? You tell me. Or don't. I'm trying hard not to remember.
And it's not only real estate. The thought ofsomeday raising a family here makes me queasy, knowing that some of thestrollers I'm pushing cost more than my first car. Seriously.
Clearly, though, there are redeeming qualities thatkeep me here. Otherwise, I'd take my dwindling savings account and hop thefirst Midwest Airlines flight back to Milwaukee.So without further ado, I present to you:
Things I Have Learned as a Midwestern Transplant in New York City
1) In your 20s, youhave free license to be a wayward soul. In your 30s, wanderlust = loser. Exceptin New York City.
It doesn't matter if you are fresh out of school, a30-something or a recent “retiree” who wants to trade his briefcase for apottery wheel. In New York,you can do whatever you want, for as little or long as you want, without beingdeemed some crazy hippie. And I really, reallylike that.
2) Survival ofthe fittest!
Because everyone'sdoing their own thing, New Yorkers seem to tune one another out, unless their needs are beingcompromised. To survive in this concrete jungle, one must adopt the approach ofthe quintessential New Yorker. Loud? Blunt? In your face? Yes, thesestereotypes are truebut I understand why. In a city of 8 million, it issurvival of the fittest like I've never seen. You must elbow your way(oftentimes literally) to get what you want, even if that's simply getting yourpoint across. As a former automobile driver who rarely had the gumption toflash the bird, I now stop in crosswalks, careen my neck and let negligentcabbies lip-read every filthy word coming out of my mouth. What can I say? Ifyou aren't persistent in being heard, you and the gazelles are going down.
3) We are as exotic to them as they are to us.
Don't worry: I haven'tlost my sweet Midwestern-ness completely. At parties, the prerequisitequestions about cheese, beer and what the hell Favre is thinking are typicallyfollowed by how darn nice everyone is from Wisconsinwhether they know someonethere or not. I often feel like a relic on display. “Check this out: I found areal-deal Wisconsinite and, sure thing, she isnice!” Then I strike a pose for the cameras.
4) Noteveryone knows what “gesundheit” means.
I am extremely proud of my Wisconsinheritage and almost shed a tear upon discovering that few of my newfoundfriends have ever tasted cheese curd (fresh orfried). It's not so much the German-centric town I'm used to. But despiteinitially feeling a little displaced, I adore the diversity of the city. In myneighborhood, I live among an interesting mix of Italian and Greek familiesalong with Russians, Latinos, Asians and Indians.I lovewandering into my neighborhood bodegas and having absolutely no idea what kindof food I am looking at because A) I've never seen it before and B) It's Greekto me. Literally. Greek script only.
Although the 'hood is diverse, the majority of myneighbors are old-school Italians who have lived here all their lives. I constantlyfeel like I'm in an episode of “The Sopranos,” with lots of gold chains andhand gestures. Apparently, I'm not the only one imagining it: A friend wholives in the area told me about a supposed hit that went down last year. But asidefrom allusions to mobsters, there is a very funny (and real) Italianstereotype that I am getting used to. The old men consistently refer to “girls”like me as “honey,” “sweetie,” “dear” and, my personal favorite, “sweet face.”Instead of being annoying, it actually feels quite sweet and fatherly.There is ageneral aura of protection in this neighborhood that is hard to find in aborough of 2.5 million people.
5) Everything you needto know about human behavior can be gained riding public transportation.
Even though I'm constantly trying to figure outwhich stereotypes are true and which aren't, I can never begin to predict behavior on the subway. Who is going to give moneyto the mariachi band/break dancer/didgeridoo soloist who is cramming a set inbetween stops? Who understands that it's highly inconsiderate to talk so damnloud in a contained area? Who will assist the girl who just puked on the floor?(Um, apparently not me.) Who will be kind enough to wake me before I miss mystop…again? Who will jump on the tracks to save someone who stumbled off theplatform? (True story.) Who's going to help deliver a baby on the R train?(Another true story. Thank god my squeamish self wasn't on the R that night!)
6) Broadway can beoverrated, but standing on the Brooklyn Bridge is absolutelyoverwhelmingwhether you're a star or not.
All sorts of famouspeople roam the streets. I work and play in the same Brooklynneighborhoods that are home to Maggie Gyllenhaal, Paul Giamatti, Keri Russelland many other celebrities. And, yes, it sucks to go to a karaoke bar and findyour drunken rendition of “99 Red Balloons” quickly upstaged by an actualBroadway singer. But don't be fooled: They're not all a pretentious,fashion-obsessed lot. Many “glamorous” New Yorkers go to the same parks aseveryone else and likely find the same enjoyment in standing on the Brooklyn Bridge and finding a view that willknock the breath out of you.
7) Surprise! Ican be neurotic anywhere!
I know that leaving social work was the rightdecision, considering that I cry far less and don't want to vomit on a regularbasis. However, I still sometimes vacillate about my move to New York. I ache for the solid foundation offriends and family who really know me. Yet, the amazing writers, artists andactors of the city inspire me to move ahead with my own adventures. Would Ireally be heading to Berlinwith a playwright and her 1-year-old at this moment had I not taken the risk tomove to the Big Apple? What a fun ride it's been and, all in all, I'm prettydamn content. But…
8) I sure do miss Alterra.
