8 p.m. September 22nd. A thunderstorm on the Autumnal Equinox. Thelonious Monk keeps me company as I sit alone in our new apartment. A vodka cocktail eases my nerves of spending only my second night in this cavernous space. I’ve checked the windows, door to be sure they’re locked. There are so many windows and I don’t know my neighbors from Adam. This building is typical of the Upper West Side; gut renovated pre war— massive, which, mixed with the supremely low rent, is the usual appeal that draws the likes of my type into The Heights.
I went grocery shopping this evening— an attempt to explore my neighborhood and to begin to make this new place feel homey. Cupboards and fridge are now stocked. Chicken breast and fresh produce are easily a fraction of what they are in my former Gramercy neighborhood. So, I cooked a lavish meal for a party of one. The leftovers will become tomorrow’s lunch, a three dollar affair as opposed to the usual $8-10 that I would otherwise (guiltily) purchase for myself near my East Village office.
From my bedroom, which sits in the front of the unit and has glorious bay windows, I can easily see into nearly all of the apartments of the adjacent building. The beauty of living on the 6th floor. (Or, perhaps, the curse— as my neighbor across the way seems to enjoy leaving his drapes wide open as he unabashedly watches porn video after video. From his selections, he is evidently very into exceedingly large bottoms.) Temporarily without the modern conveniences of cable and wireless internet, my viewing pleasure has been confined to these windows. I am a voyeur, getting a feeling for this new location, without having to leave the safety of the thin panes of glass.
I have the same discomfort (that I finally grew to be comfortable with), as when I lived on the other, Eastern side of Harlem. I’m hyper-concious of being an outsider- wincing whenever someone stares too long at me, seemingly reminding me that I-Am-Not-In-My-Element. My nickname has returned to Snow Bunny (sometimes Snow White, Snow Queen, Snowflake— essentially anything preceded by “Snow”). In Spanish Harlem, this used to infuriate me. Now I just find it tiresome. I’m well aware of what I am- that I’m different here than I apparently am in Midtown, and “Thank you very much for pointing the obvious out to me.” But I suppose I will, in time, get used to it again.
What I’m not yet used to, what will surely take a bit of adjustment, is being completely removed from the neighborhoods where I am most comfortable and where I have, for the past eight years, spent the majority of my time. I can no longer walk to my favorite haunts. Now I have to decide, REALLY think about, whether or not that hour long train ride (or $25 dollar cab ride) is worth it. So far, I don’t think it’s frequently going to be. And while this is going to take me some time to settle into, I think it’s ultimately for the better. When one lives in their most comfortable neighborhoods, one tends to, more often than not, seek the outside world, as opposed to staying in and perhaps indulging a bit more in the “inside world.” This is the inner, rather subconscious, appeal of moving so far north. As anyone who’s spent any length of time in New York City can attest to, it’s remarkably easy to “get caught up,” and forget what it is that one really wishes to do. The longer you live here, the more people you know, the more parties/events/dinners/birthdays/gatherings that you feel obligated to attend. How often we find ourselves saying, “Ugh. I really wish I could just go home, but such-and-such from out of town is only in town this one night, and I HAVE to see them before they go!” Or, “Sure. I’ll go to Friend X’s play. I guess the gym and my writing will just have to wait.” The oversaturation of things-to-do— the pressing socialization— becomes very monotonous and, after a while, quite boring.
I have, on very, very few occasions, found it necessary to take the subway in the past year that I lived in Gramercy. I could literally walk anywhere that I really desired to go. Granted, I’m only two days into my Heights Experience, but I am relishing in the fact that I now have so much time to read on the train. I have a near hour to settle into the new day, and collect my thoughts. It’s a slower pace in a sprinting, rushing, knock-you-over city. And I’m quite liking the opportunity to breathe a little deeper.
"To think perhaps it won't all have been for nothing." -Beckett
Jesse Barton lives in Washington Heights, where she is affectionately known as "Snowflake." She reads, writes, runs, and rents (apartments to other people). Jesse is a former actress/model and is planning on getting her MA in Journalism next fall. She loves easily and abundantly and tries to always do as she'd have done.
Jesse Barton lives in Washington Heights, where she is affectionately known as "Snowflake." She reads, writes, runs, and rents (apartments to other people). Jesse is a former actress/model and is planning on getting her MA in Journalism next fall. She loves easily and abundantly and tries to always do as she'd have done.
