New York State of Mindfuck

New Yorkers are afraid of absolutely everything.  No, really.  Before I lived in NYC, I never would have imagined that statement to be true.  But think about it.  Here we are, in what is considered by many to be "the greatest city in the world" and the "center of the universe".  We have everything we could possibly want, and millions of things I never knew existed - many of which really shouldn't (a three-story Olive Garden in Times Square for one; though, I may just be traumatized from working there).  We have theater and restaurants and the financial district and the five boroughs - each of which could be its own city.  On a daily commute, I ride the subway next to people from no less than five different countries.  Anything that can be bought in a store can be delivered right to my apartment - for a price.  There are 24-hour...well, everything's.  Bars are open until 4am, but many never actually close.  I could go on for hours.

The fear I'm talking about isn't one of terrorism, though the footprint of 9/11 remains on everyone's chest and will for some time.  It's not of gang violence or attacks on the subway or even a stock market crash, though saying that we keep those things in the back of our minds every day is true - we have to.  And we would be stupid not to.

The truth is, New Yorkers aren't afraid of other people so much as we're afraid of ourselves.  We're afraid we can't hack it - that we're not good enough and that we'll fail.  Because if there's one thing you can say about New York, it's a competitor all its own.  It lives and breathes and tries to kick your ass, daily.  Many times, it wins.  If you've ever run a marathon, New York is like "The Wall".  Just when you think you're almost done, you get a nice, swift gut punch to remind you that you still have a ways to go.

Time was I had access to a roof when I lived in a tiny, shoebox-sized apartment in Brooklyn Heights.  Every day, I would come home from my three jobs, two rehearsals and a little (or a lot) of decompression time at the bar, and I would go up to that roof where I could see the whole damn city, and yell, "Fuck you, New York!  You didn't get me today!"  Most times I'd hear a faint laugh echo off the water along the Promenade in response.

In this town that supposedly never sleeps (it doesn't), you have to be at the top of your game with every breath.  Because there is always someone else who does what you do and maybe does it a little better.  And the moment you forget, NYC will be sure to give you a harsh reminder.  You got that promotion at work?  Awesome!  Now, there's a sick passenger on your subway train and it will take you two hours to get home.  Oh, and there was a manhole explosion so the power is out when you get there and will be out for two days.  Plus, your building has bedbugs and no one told you.  And don't forget your rent (you know, that check that could feed a small nation every month?) is going up because the landlord can't pay his mortgage.  You can't even wash the city off yourself because the hot water isn't working.  So you go to your favorite local bar to medicate, and suddenly it's closed for renovations. How's that promotion now?

Every day we walk through a scenario like that to varying degrees.  So, when I say New Yorkers are afraid of everything, it's because there is virtually no way in which we haven't been screwed.  Forward, sideways, backward and even in the ear.  It's true.

There's a wariness that comes from being pissed on by this town so often.  Hell, even the rain is so acidic it makes my skin burn.  I am cynical of everyone and everything around me.  A random act of kindness couldn't possibly be random - what's the catch?  C'mon, there must be one.

With that comes self-doubt.  Before I moved here, I had a certain level of confidence about myself and my abilities.  Now, years later, it's a struggle to remember that there was something I was good at - anything I was good at.  At least, many days.  And that has started to wear on me more than a little.  I've noticed it.  I also know I'm not the only one.  I see it in the faces I pass - a weariness, a dogged tiredness, a sense of defeat.  Pounding the pavement has left a lot of us with full-body stress fractures.  When I smile at someone or say "hello" for no real reason, I get a reaction like that of an abused animal - an almost visible flinch, followed by a tail-between-the-legs retreat.

New York is certainly not the toughest place to live.  There are places far more difficult.  Just reading the news every day reminds me of that.  And remembering my life in Moscow.  That was tougher, too.  But in more obvious ways.  New York sneaks up on you.  It gets into your head.  It fucks you mentally, like any smart competitor, and takes the win.

It's possible New York won't be my home for too much longer.  And there are days when I think to myself how much I CANNOT FUCKING WAIT TO GET OUT OF THIS SHITHOLE TOWN and move somewhere beautiful.  Somewhere that "good morning" awaits a response and "hello" doesn't result in a dirty, frightened look.  Where even on the roughest of days, at least I am in a place that is pretty.  A place that remembers we only get so much time in this world, so enjoying a little of it isn't a crime.

Some days I know I will wake up one day and miss this god-forsaken, backward, mind-fucker of a city that has gotten into my blood and will hang around until I beat it at its own game - or my dying breath, whichever comes first.  I'm betting on the latter.  I'll miss the diversity.  And the comradery with strangers that comes from beating the same misery together one more day.  And the saxophonist in the park.

It's a funny place, New York.  Perhaps one day I'll get to race this city one-on-one.  Maybe I'll come out on top if I do enough mental push-ups and log enough heartbreak miles.  For now, fuck you, New York, you won't get me today.  That's a promise.  So, bring it.