No 5: CITY MUSINGS
MADISON ROSENFIELD
BY MADISON ROSENFIELD
read this while listening to any combination of the following:
"subterranean homesick blues" by bob dylan
"new york, i love you but you're bringing me down" by lcd soundsystem
"new age" by the velvet underground
"train under water" by bright eyes
"stoned and starving" by parquet courts
"jfk" by azealia banks
"chelsea morning" by joni mitchell
Nothing can prepare you for going to college in the city. Spending these formative years in a city that is known to chew you up and spit you out. You kinda just have to do it. To throw yourself headfirst into it.
This year, I moved into my first apartment: a real, big-girl, fourth-floor walkup kind of deal.
And it's great. I like it. I like the independence, the steady drumbeat of movement and life, the freedom to get up and just go.
But how nice would it be if sometimes—just sometimes—the frantic, feverish pace of the city slowed to a halt? If everyone could be on the same page for once?
Last year, I would venture downtown on my own and get lost in the anonymity of city life quite often. It was, to me, a tiny act of rebellion. A chance to claim a city that has been claimed and reclaimed over and over again into oblivion; mythologized, memorialized, mused about from generation to generation.
For me, for rare and fleeting moments, my claim to the city feels unique. And I cling onto those moments for dear life.
Those moments when I'm standing on a random dancefloor dripping in my sweat (Or is it someone else’s? It doesn’t matter, I tell myself, as long as I’m protected by the sweet sweet sounds of house music).
When it’s scary hours with my friends in Butler doing anything but writing my midterm paper due next week.
When I'm sitting on the subway and lock eyes with a stranger across the car (the more awkward the better).
When I discover a really good (like, really good) new song and have just enough time to listen to it on my walk between classes.
When the cold wind whips at my ears and I know it’s that time of year again. My favorite knit hat makes its debut.
When I levitate my way through the East Village on a particularly raucous night. Yes, I’m perpetually intimidated by the downtown kids.
When I find the perfect jacket at the flea market (my latest was a steal, let me tell you).
When I chomp on a perfectly crispy slice of pizza to satiate my drunken cravings.
When I see an elderly couple holding hands as they shuffle down the block.
The first snow, the last day of classes before break, the late-night living room debrief sessions, the quiet of the stacks. Moments, friends, places, sidewalks.
Most of these things could happen anywhere, to anyone—but, for a moment, they are mine. Wholly mine.
Yes, the city can be isolating, difficult, gritty, humbling. But it can also be intoxicating, inspiring, sexy, dynamic. I’m already nostalgic for everything happening all around me.
Lucky me, to be living in New York City. Lucky me, to be one in 8.468 million.
