Thursday, July 19, 2012

Waiting on a Friend

Today I am going to talk about something that I think is true for a lot of people that move to New York City, or any new city for that matter. Let's start this one out with a song.


This is the Rolling Stones' "Waiting on a Friend", and it is basically my life story right now. Here we have Mick Jagger standing in a doorway watching some ladies pass by. He's all "ooo ooo oo OO ooooo", but you know that is just code for something really heavy that's weighing on his heart. Then he starts singing and you eventually hear him repeating over and over, I'm not waiting on a lady. I'm just waiting on a friend. Then it hits you. Mick Jagger isn't waiting on a lady...he's waiting on a friend.

You and me both, Mick. I wouldn't mind if that friend was a lady, by the way. I'm not picky. I'd probably prefer it.

Let me explain. Daniel and I have been living in New York for almost two months, and we have been having a blast. We've been to museums and zoos and parks and musicals and Coney Island. We are a daily audience for an inconsistently impressive dance show on the Q train. We've eaten cupcakes, ridden on ferries, walked by historic landmarks, sighted celebrities (Clinton Kelly...I had just been watching What Not To Wear before I saw him). This place is great. Listen to Alicia Keys. She's not kidding.

But here's the thing about moving to New York that I hadn't completely realized until we actually got here: when we moved, our friends didn't move with us.

This revelation probably isn't as shocking to those who have moved before, but I don't have a lot of experience with moving, so give me a break. From the time I was born, I lived at the same address in Helotes Park Estates in the same bedroom with the same bunny light switch for nineteen years. The first time I really moved away was college, but I was still in Texas and when I got there they had something called Welcome Week where they basically assigned us lifelong friends. Thanks for the bridesmaid, Baylor bubble!


My wonderful friend Lara and I, freshman year at Baylor.
On my wedding day. The comparison seriously makes me cry. 

From there, Daniel and I got married and we moved to Austin where most of our friends were anyway. I got used to a lifestyle of going out to dinners, having occasional sleepovers, checking in on each other, having real in-depth conversations, and simply doing life with my best friends. I was spoiled.


These people spoiled me rotten.

Now we've moved to New York, a city where I know only a handful of people and none of these contacts are preexisting best friends. This situation has NEVER happened to me. And I mean for that sentence to sound as dramatic as it looks.

When I think about how I even accumulated the friends I have in my life, I realize that I have mostly made new friends with a few older ones by my side. Then I have to think about the first time in my life that I made a friend which was probably in pre-school, and that was probably the result of Tinker Toys or some other friend-inducing toy of the early 90s. Kids are awesome at making friends. 



I know I am getting ahead of myself, and I am absolutely making it look like I am totally socially inept (which I'm pretty sure isn't the case). Daniel and I only just recently joined a church and while I have a job, we haven't started taping yet, so I haven't been around any of those folks. These are very logical places to meet people, and I probably will and everything will probably be more than okay.

The problem (as always) is my expectations. I am seeking in strangers what was cultivated through years of experience with my close friends. I want discussion and honesty and accountability. I want to skip right on through the politeness and primary tension of meeting someone to true, real friendship. 


That's not how life works. I know that. I know I am being selfish in not wanting the work of starting new friendships. The truth is I have been pretty fortunate to have had such great relationships despite my propensity towards over-thinking absolutely everything. And it's not like I am looking to replace any of them. They are still there, though miles away, whenever I need a dose of thoroughly-marinated, real conversation.


Still, as Mick Jagger says:


Don't need a whore
I don't need no booze
Don't need a virgin priest
But I need someone I can cry to
...
I'm just waiting on a friend

My thoughts exactly, Mick. Who needs virgin priests when you've got friends?


Thursday, July 12, 2012

My Love Letter to Ditmas Park


Let me tell you about Ditmas Park.

Ditmas Park is the neighborhood where Daniel and I are blessed to be currently living. Sometimes when I think about all of the different places in Brooklyn where we could have ended up, a rush of thankfulness just washes over me.

Here's why:











I could go on, but you get it. It's beautiful. It's hip. It's got delicious french toast. You're sold.

We were too when we first arrived here. As I mentioned in a previous entry, Daniel and I have been subleasing an apartment in this area. We've got three roommates (and by roommates, I mean cats) that live with us, and they are a blast. It's a really great situation. 

When we walk out of the apartment building, we are steps away from the main road: Cortelyou Road, which looks like this:


It's full of bodegas, coffee shops, amazing restaurants, organic groceries (not to mention a super successful food coop). As I write this, I am currently sitting at my favorite coffee shop, Qathra, sipping on a chai tea latte and feeling pretty self-assured in my perceived hipness. 

The neighborhood is really relaxed, full of really interesting people and families. I would post pictures of the thousands of impressively adorable babies I see every day, but Daniel doesn't allow me to take pictures of other peoples' kids because he claims it's "creepy and off-putting". You can see how his tyrannical reign over this relationship has some consequences. 

Ditmas Park is also central to a ton of incredible places. It's a short train ride to:

PROSPECT PARK

Grand Army Plaza



Relaxing my life away
THE BROOKLYN BOTANIC GARDENS






THE BROOKLYN MUSEUM






Believe it or not, this is a coffin.
CONEY ISLAND



not to mention, a little place called MANHATTAN


Ditmas Park also might be the friendliest neighborhood ever. In my mind I frequently compare Cortelyou Road to Sesame Street. I could absolutely imagine a spontaneous musical breaking out. The other day when I went for a run, FOUR different people said things like, "Keep it up!", "Good for you!", "Look at you go!", and I definitely heard one guy say, "Don't stop believing!"

WE LOVE DITMAS PARK...almost as much as these people.

I don't know these people, but I'd like to. 

Not that I am trying to brag (by the way, did I mention that Tina Fey and Paul Rudd were shooting a movie down the street from me the other day?). I am just daily floored that I get to live here. 

This summer, I have started on the path to becoming a New Yorker. I don't know how I officially become one. According to How I Met Your Mother, you're a real New Yorker when you've:

1. Seen Woody Allen (Not yet. Where does he hang out? I have so many things to tell him!)
2. Stolen a cab from someone who needs it more than you do (I have a problem with this one because I ride the subway, and I think most of us do.)
3. Cried on the subway and not given a damn (Check.)
4. Killed a cockroach with your bare hands (How about bare feet?)

So by this list's standards, I am sort of halfway there, which is pretty good for just a few months of actually living here. Something I have heard from a lot of locals is that you can tell you are a New Yorker when you go back and forth between loving the city and hating it. 

Boy, do I get that. There are days when I am walking around Manhattan and I am taking in all of the sights and I just feel like that girl from That Girl.



Then there are days when I get stepped on, or it rains, or I eat something weird, or I get yelled at and I just think to myself, That Girl must have been on crack. 

But whenever I feel like that, which is really very seldom, Ditmas Park is so comforting. When we were planning to move here from Texas, my fear was always that I would have nowhere to escape to when the city became a little too much. Now I can safely say that my neighborhood is my escape. 

We signed a two-year lease the other day. Let's do this, Ditmas Park.  

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