I’ve been in New York for just over a week, and I’m already starting to count pennies. The city bleeds you of cash like few other cities can; it’s difficult enough as a tourist, more so when you actually live in it. “The rent is too damn high,” complained Jimmy McMillan of The Rent Is Too Damn High party. I can’t complain too much, because I live in an apartment in Harlem where the rent is reasonable by Manhattan standards. But the other things—groceries, utilities, transportation, other little necessities I never thought of—do tend to run up. Of course I can live comfortably for as long as I have to stay here, but I’d gotten used to having a respectable amount in the bank. Looks like that may change for now.
While I was at the subway this afternoon, loaded with bags after running up another $50 tab at Trader Joe’s, I started to wonder if I really knew what I was getting myself into. Of course I had no idea what it would all entail when I first applied to Columbia; I just knew I wanted to go to the J-School. I went through a period questioning that as well, and here I am on the eve of my first day at school, questioning my intentions once more.
I’m 26; at my age, some friends are settling down, getting married and gearing up to have kids. I’m living in a rented apartment for the first time in my adult life, sleeping on a mattress set on the floor, sharing a common space with strangers (who are thankfully very nice), shopping for secondhand furniture. Actually paying rent on my own. It’s a strange new life, one that involves self-assembled furniture and doing the dishes as often as I pick up something to eat, and I’m entering it with anxiety as well as wide-eyed wonder.
I am a cuj13 hopeful… keep writing about your NY experiences, maybe, if it works out, I’ll be coming there prepared