100 days in Brooklyn

Life is a snowflake and a snowball and a raindrop

I woke up and did not write. I told myself I would do it later and forgot about it until this very moment. I made breakfast and drank some water and got dressed. I felt weak for some reason but figured it was just the morning. I got on my bike and went to Williamsburg for a pilates class. The only other time I'd been to that studio was within my first week of moving, when I kept walking around and crying because it felt like I had my life back and I was so lucky. I remember walking to a class and passing a house that was Jersey Boys themed and bursting into tears, laughing on the sidewalk.

The class today was lackluster at best. I biked to Trader Joe’s and got food for the week. I made my way home without having to look at the directions and opened the door for myself and my neighbor, who was sitting on the stoop vaping as she always is because she never brings her keys with her. I brought a load of laundry down and started the machine. I got back on my bike and went to pick up my wool coat from the dry cleaner. I was thrilled to find it was still before noon. I made lunch and cleaned my room and the apartment. I switched over laundry and ran out of quarters. All these little things, all the rituals of maintaining a space and a life have found themselves in a routine — one that I was so anxious to find and am happy to have.

I showered and washed my hair and couldn’t stop thinking about booking a haircut and chopping it all off. I wondered if that was the exciting thing I should do on my 100th day, to really cement the feeling of newness. I poked around at some salons friends had recommended. A haircut is expensive everywhere, but I was sobered to find what the average is here. I sang a little and worked through my to-do list. I ate a snack and brainstormed what to do with the afternoon for some small celebration. In the end, I decided to go for a ferry ride. I put on some layers and wore my loafers for the first time in maybe a year and headed to the North Williamsburg port.

I got on and immediately it felt special to be by the water. I’ve only ever gone out of my way to be near the water, and I’m just realizing that it carries a certain magnitude because my being drawn to it has always been intentional. A park is a park is a tree is some grass is the pavement is a building is all normal and everyday. There’s never anything pedestrian about my being by the water. We rode along the East River and I marveled at the swiftness and economy of the ferry. Commuters sat in their normal seats and left the office behind them.

We splashed up the river and suddenly, like some holy thing, Tudor City shone against the blue sky and right along the water. I planned to take it in a loop and not get off, but at 34th street they made everyone get off anyway because it was the end of the line. I figured I should explore. I walked up and down the esplanade and then tried to find my way to the building itself, hanging somehow high above the streets and on a different plane. Eventually, I got to Tudor City Place and texted my parents, standing directly in front of the building where they lived. I sat in the park across the street, where I’m pretty sure they got engaged. It was the muted dusk of spring, when the green is lush and the sun dapples through, golden and ephemeral. It felt like walking around in a simulation of their past.

It feels very strange to live in New York, to be so close to my hometown again and have it feel like some distant, disconnected thing. I grew up in New Jersey, but then I really grew up a lot and in a different, more visceral way in Philadelphia. It feels like some phantom thing to have Montclair so close again after it was so very far away, like something I had gotten used to not being able to touch is somehow in front of my face again. Like that whole part was just a dream, and now I’m falling asleep and having the same dream again.

I went to CVS and got some random things and walked back to the ferry. I took it to South Williamsburg and sat behind a German family and golden hour had just started to shine. It felt good to face the sun and be wrapped in the wind and have it sting my face. I walked to L’Industrie and spent a lot of time thinking about what My New York will end up being, if I’ll ever have a child and they’ll walk around Brooklyn and think about me walking around when I was young and knew nothing and wanted so much. I got my slices and walked to the M, my hunger making the journey painfully long. I was intent on waiting to sit down at home and eating comfortably. I wanted to savor it all. I got home and ate and drank a lot of cold water. I made a cup of tea and got ready for bed.

It has been a busy 100 days. I needed a job and went broke and found a job. I met new people and saw many people who were not new. I hung a lot of art in my room that is all crooked. I have thought about how much we need a fruit bowl a thousand times without buying one. I started to have ideas again and be excited by my own mind. I returned to lyrical thinking and got overwhelmed by the inherent challenge of being here. But I have laughed and I have cried and I have felt lucky every day.