The Dome Dominates NYC: Part One

I don't know how many parts there will be.

I did Power of the Pen when I was in middle school.* They give you a prompt, and you have 45 minutes to craft a narrative. I took fourth in state, which annoyed me because one judge* gave me a poor score on the prompt, "Color me blank..."(you fill in the blank). And my storyline was so good. It was about the orange crayon who wanted to be green because green got used so much more. But then fall came, and the orange crayon realized that, he, too, had his season to shine. Clearly, the judge didn't understand my depth.

Many times, usually when I'm in an airport, I tell myself I'm going to blog PoP style - 45 minutes then publish. I usually start, then get distracted by a glass of wine or the person to my left, and finish the post days later. Today, though, I'm going to do it. 45 minutes, 6 of which I've already spent on the intro. My prompt: Initial reactions to NYC.

Why now? I wanted to sit outside to enjoy the humidity-free air that smells of petrol, tar, and the occasional hint of marijuana. Plus, I needed to step away from my desk. Apparently when people hear MBA, they think, "stats!," and I have been tasked with running a multiple regression to test for statistical significance of factors. Stats class. 1. I'm not going to give myself zero, yet, though, because I actually understand what I'm doing. I think business school may be teaching me something, after all.

I apologize for not updating you sooner. It's been nearly a month, but time does go so quickly. The first couple weeks I spent as a vagabond, bumming around from place to place until my apartment was ready, but as of two weeks ago, I am officially a resident of the West Village. The neighborhood of quaint architecture, tree-lined alleys, beautiful men who have chosen to pursue their own sex, and overpriced everything. I think I lose fifteen dollars every time I step out of my apartment.

Once I do step out of the apartment, though, I have a nice little routine. I hop on the subway and make my way to the gym. I'm not going to claim I've mastered the subway system, but I'm getting pretty close. At least getting on the subway. Getting off is a different story. Rockefeller is my stop, and I think I've left from a different exit all ten times, which seems statistically impossible.

I found a Crossfit gym near my office, and I'm going routinely again. This week was the first workout I've done in a while that I attacked. Crossfit's great because wherever you are, you can assume the people going are generally kind, social, and interested in at least one similar thing. Even if it's just for an hour at the gym, it's nice to have a social outlet. Crossfit's not great because you measure everything. So when I see my scores are not nearly as good as they once were, I have to check my ego and remind myself to work hard where I am. I find myself making excuses when people ask how long I've been doing Crossfit to justify the performance that I consider subpar. But I'm making a conscience effort to not do that, because the excuses don't matter.

I notice that in work, too. I asked for feedback the other day, and the feedback was valid and constructive. While I accepted the feedback in a generally professional manner, I still found my mind wandering to the reason for this behavior, or why it could be justified. We don't have to try to make excuses. We have to actively ignore the excuses.

Speaking of feedback, not one embarrassing story has been told, and no one knows my nickname from high school. Indeed, I may even be perceived as classy. Especially today, because I'm wearing my 20s-inspired drop-waist green dress with open toed boots and freshly painted nails. I'm practically Sarah Jessica Parker. Except instead of a Gucci bag, I have a ten pound gym bag filled with sweaty clothes, instead of a closet full of shoes, I have a seventy year old man who thinks it's kosher to waltz into the kitchen in his tighty-whities, and instead of Big, I'm surrounded by the aforementioned neighbors who, while beautiful to look at, are not interested in me. I do drink champagne, though, so I'm practically living Sex and the City.

Other than my assumed reputation of mysterious class, the internship is going quite well. Turns out, I like working in sports. It's been exactly what I wanted for the summer, although I do think it's ironic that one of our projects is to build a five year plan when I couldn't build a five year plan for myself.

As for New York. I like it. For all the reasons you would like New York - the food, the parks, the art. Who am I kidding - I haven't been to an art museum yet. The 4 am pizza. The large amount of fellow Rossers interning here for the summer. I had a case of the Sunday blues a couple weeks ago, as I do when away from my family, and it was so nice to be able to have brunch with a friend. Every time I've moved, I've done so alone. Doing it with people you know and who know you makes the transition much easier.

Most of all, I like the grit. I went to the gym especially early this morning and saw that the 5:30 AM subway crowd was much different than the 7 AM. I looked around at all the men in the car, all dressed for blue collar jobs. Maybe it's a naive comment, or possibly insensitive, but I appreciated seeing blue collar in the city. Not poverty, but blue collar. Because I saw my grandpa in those men. Doing their best to work hard, provide for their families, and build a life. And that made it feel a little more like home.

Welp, time's up, and I only got partway through my editing, so apologies for any typos.
* Nerd alert.
* Likely from Germany