thoughts on New York

I'm here thirteen years too late, I think.

The car dropped me at the corner of 6th and 44th, which was not exactly where I was going.  Plunged into the cacophony of New York, I grabbed my one bag and my backpack and headed to what would become my home here for the next three and a half weeks.  I was struck first by the age of the sidewalks and streets.  The pavement is worn and weathered, and looks to be made from some industrial grade asphalt, though I am sure there is no such thing.  All of New York looks like that; like it's built to sustain the traffic and constant grinding of millions of people over hundreds of years.  A pedi-cab whipped past me, looking for tourists.  I always hate being a tourist, but staying at a hotel right near Times Square makes it very hard to feel like anything but a big fat mark for the locals to fleece.  I checked in, dropped my bags off in my closet-sized hotel room, and headed outside for a quick look at the flashing neon face of the city. 

When I was fresh out of college, my wife and I toyed with the idea of moving to New York.  With a background in theater, it made more sense for me to start my career in New York, because my TV and Film experience was limited to a silent, three minute, 8mm student film.  My wife had always dreamed of living in Manhattan, and although her musical theater dreams had by then given way to plans for a teaching career, she liked the idea of starting in New York.  As we finished up the last leg of our Children's Theater tour, we began looking for jobs in the city.  The future was open to us, and New York seemed the perfect leap into an exciting life together.

I walked past the "Nuts for Nuts" cart, past a crowd of people waiting on the curb for the white, flashing walk sign, and into the center of Times Square.  It may be the bane of a New Yorker's existence; akin to the Hollywood and Highland Walk of Fame area of LA, but it is certainly electric.  Like Las Vegas, this part of New York is never silent or dormant.  A constant barrage of advertisement and energy surges through everyone within it's basin of neon signs, elaborate facades, and historic buildings.  It doesn't feel real.  I walked right through it and eventually past the heart of it, and found myself in a slightly less chaotic section of Midtown.  There was a deli/convenience store/salad bar/coffee/donut shop open, so I went in to grab a couple of things.  I am not at all shocked to discover that a small can of shaving cream is six dollars, but I laugh out loud when I am charged $16.46 for a six-pack of Corona.  Quick math tells me that's...a lot per beer.

We never made it to New York, Elisa and I.  Hitting brick walls on the job front was part of the reason, but the real reason was a book I bought in 1995 at a second hand book store in Derry, New Hampshire called: "Your Film Acting Career," by MK Lewis.  Essentially, it was a book about being an actor in Los Angeles.  Reading it from what felt like the wintry tundra of New England, my fixation on New York melted into sunny dreams of warm, sunny, glamorous Los Angeles.  I knew no one there, but that didn't faze me.  I really didn't know anyone in New York either, and at least in Hollywood I could escape the oppressive winters.  Our dreams of living in New York evaporated (or at least, mine did), and we made plans to start our lives in Hollywood.

I took the long way home, circumventing Times Square and dipping briefly into Hell's Kitchen on my way back around to the hotel.  I passed restaurants and bars on my extended route, and smiled at the pretty hostesses trying to lure in passers-by.  I wondered if they were actresses, fresh on the heels of a big dream, and hoped they were... and hoped also for their future successes.  What may have once been jealousy or envy, is now instead admiration for the young actors and hopefuls that choose New York.  I often wonder if I could have made it here, and decide that it probably doesn't matter.  I get to live here for three and a half weeks, but rather than try to cram the last thirteen years into that time, I choose instead to find what I can in my short stay here.  I'll never be a New Yorker, and now that I'm firmly rooted in Los Angeles, I guess that's okay with me. 

I think my wife might not quite agree.  She and I love our lives very much in Sherman Oaks, but more than it was ever my dream to live in New York, it was ALWAYS hers.  I know she is envious that I have the opportunity to be here for the upcoming weeks.  I wish I could somehow let it be her instead of me, if only to quench a tiny piece of that lifelong dream she has always had.  But we're thirteen years too late, with not enough lives to get to everything we ever dreamed. 

I walk up 44th towards my hotel, and pass piles of garbage and a homeless man changing his pants in the darkened doorway of a closed deli.  There are occasional smells that I can't identify that waft throughout the city, and I quickly learn to stop breathing when one of these foul odors hits me in the face.  The revolving doors of the hotel bring me out of the New York night, and into an oasis of air-conditioned air and hip decor.  I pass red couches on the way to the tiny elevators, and feel content to remain a visitor to this place.  It is an amazing city, but one that I am too old to master.  I am thrilled by its energy, but not at all at home here.  I think back to the loneliness I felt for the first year in Los Angeles, and wonder if the adjustment period goes up exponentially with a bit more age and a bit more family.

But then, I have no plans to move here.  I am content to visit and to be familiar enough with the geography to understand the difference between Midtown and Soho.  Three and a half weeks is the perfect amount of time to live here, ride the subways, eat the food and find some nightlife.  True, I will never have memories of struggling as a waiter in a Theatre District Bistro, hoping for my next big role. Happily, I am relieved to discover that I no longer want that. 

I crack one of my 3ish dollar Coronas and lie down on the bed in my tiny hotel room.  It's not the New York I once imagined and dreamed I'd live in, but surprisingly to me...this version is just as good.

Comments

[Christian Duguay]

That was awesome

[annie]

Second that.

[Chuck]

And he's BACK! I also second the awesomeness. That's awesomeness cubed, dude.

[Elisa]

Thank you for wishing it could somehow be me. But it is you and you deserve it! I miss you.

[JMG]

Awwwww....how sweet!!!!!!!!!!

[Felicity]

So jealous right now!

[fightin' mad mary]

I am loving every Nickerblog on the road post.

[Wendy Maybury]

Woohoo! This is awesome... and brings back memories.. I used to say my favorite game in NYC was "What's that smell?" because seriously, it's putrid, but has all sorts of complex notes in it... not just urine, or trash, but a complex blend of those with specifics from the street you're on...

You are so much smarter just to not smell... what was I thinking? I was young!