ON SURVIVING.
Q: How’s New York?
A: Not the worst!
Q: Good to hear! I myself have been considering a move from a town I’ve grown very comfortable in, to a much bigger city. Any tips on how to survive — or even thrive — in that transition?
A: You’ve gotta be more specific than that. There are lots of big cities out there, and let me tell you, each one is — oh, no, you’re right, they’re all exactly the same.
Maybe these instructions will be a little bit bunk if you’re trading Walla Walla for Mexico City instead of, I presume, Des Moines for Prague. But if we agree to keep this as general as possible, maybe you’ll get something out of it. Not the keys to the city and a tony townhouse, but something a step above shivering in the corner of a subway station in a pool of (your own, hopefully?) urine.
Onward!
Step 1: Accept the fact that you will be living in some form of cramped, decrepit squalor.
With millions all occupying the same severely limited space, square footage is at a premium — so whatever you’ve been paying for rent or mortgage back home, be prepared to at least double it just to get a semi-reliable roof over your head and a splash or two of running water. Everything else will cost you mucho dinero. Also know that the shower drain will back up within two days of the beginning of your lease, the culprit being a dead mouse that has floated to the surface and gotten stuck there. Oh, and only one of your burners on your stove is gonna work, and by work we mean it’s going to either be at full blast or just leaking natural gas into your “kitchen,” which is really just the only part of your living room where a minifridge would fit without looking ridiculous. Your bedroom window — if you have one — is going to look out on a scene that years later you will describe as something a person just can’t unsee. Point is, every city apartment you’ve ever seen in a movie (unless it was Taxi Driver) was a total sham, fabricated on a sound stage in Los Angeles by an interior designer who wouldn’t know a walk-up from a hole in their ass. Now, go take everything you own, put it in your bedroom closet — then try to find a place to sleep. This is your future. Adjust accordingly.
Step 2: Order. Everything. Online.
I know, I know. Amazon is the devil, and all that. But I schlepped across this great city from one borough to the next for three straight days looking for a single rug and two nightstands. Seventeen trains in all, and a total of about 22 hours searching, with nothing but sweaty pits and a thick film of city gunk on my skin to show for it. Ikea had it in stock — only they didn’t. The one at the flea market looked right — until I tested it for stability and the leg nearly fell off. It didn’t feel like I was asking for much. The city felt otherwise, and felt free to prove it to me.
In the end a four-minute Google search finished furnishing my entire bedroom. And I didn’t even have to use Amazon! I’m not saying stay inside while the rest of the city goes out and lives their lives. I’m saying save your time for farmers markets and bazaars when you already have everything you need and the only thing you want is a knickknack to rest on top of the mini-fridge.
Step 3: Get some plants. They’re more than just a reminder that nature exists.
The first thing I missed was the back yard. We had even picked a Brooklyn neighborhood with “Greene” in the name, one whose avenues are lined with trees, but not being able to step out a back door and into a garden full of flowers and fruits and veggies was disorienting on my best day and downright depressing the other six a week. Ten days in, I raided a nursery like a drunk with a key to the 7–11. I read up on their care, gently laid them down in spots where they were likely to thrive, and left notes on what to do for them, and when. They all got names. They have become de facto family members, ones whose lives I am terrified of ending due to my own horticultural ignorance. The Tillandsia, Dorothy, is my favorite. She sits in the bathroom window, her long fronds stretching for the ceiling until the weight takes them down. Tillandsias absorb water through their leaves, not their roots, and one day I accidentally set a full coffee mug too close, in the fronds went, and now Dorothy wakes me up in the middle of the night telling me she can’t sleep and could she please get a rematch in Scrabble, the board’s already set up in the living room and everything.
Step 4: Embrace public transportation as though it were your closest friend. Even knowing it will betray you.
It takes me 75 minutes and costs me about half a Benjamin to go from my office to the airport via taxi or Uber. It costs a total of $5 to make the same trip by subway, and takes 10 minutes less. Such is the case almost everywhere in the city — plus the people-watching is phenomenal. Who knew you could wear a bathrobe with Crocs for your trip to the zoo?
Truth is, I love the subway. Not only is it the best option for the environment shy of walking, it’s far more entertaining and convenient than any other way to get around. Right up until it isn’t. Right up until you show up at a train platform expecting a Brooklyn-bound C to show up any minute, only to have that minute turn into 25. Until you skip the completely packed train car for the mostly empty one right behind it, then have the doors close behind you and you’re hit hard with both searing heat and a nosehair-searing stench, along with the realization as to why it’s just you and the cock-eyed, wild-haired dude with the maniacal laugh staring you down from the other end. The subway is your friend. It’s always around, and most of the time it’s a good friend. But it’s also a friend that’s always a single step away from surprising you on the street, slipping something into your drink, dragging you out on some wild goose chase, and then abandoning you in the middle of nowhere, having taken all everything the photo of your G-Ma out of your wallet. Don’t delete your Lyft app just yet, is all I’m saying.
Step 5: Keep a “recon” dossier of your new town’s tendencies and idiosyncrasies.
Firstly, because it’ll make you feel like a spy — and spies never get lost or homesick! More importantly, it’ll help you figure out the place, and discern your way within it. You’ll find things you enjoy that you never expected, and have an eye out for the particulars that people — even locals — miss. Finally, it’ll be fun, years from now, to look back at how odd you found at things that have subsequently become commonplace to your new, citified self. I know that six months from now I won’t give a French Bulldog another thought, but the fact that every other pooch in Brooklyn is a flat-faced furry-Jon-Favreau-looking motherfucker who huffs like Darth Vader and couldn’t clear a tree root if its cardiac-event-shortened life depended on it is just astonishing to me. And don’t even talk to me about the fact I’ve seen exactly two Subarus in the three weeks I’ve been here. What I’m saying is: Write. It. Down.
Step 6: Safety first.
This list could continue until I drop dead, but I realize no one has the patience or time for that — and besides, I plan on kicking around for a while. Instead, I’m going to call upon the wisdom of those who’ve come before me. In this case, that’s PBS, who wrote a truly enlightening article about surviving an encounter with a bear. I’ve maintained their article to the letter, the only modification being I’ve changed the words “grizzly bear” to “city” whenever relevant to this discussion. Enjoy. And keep your hand firmly wrapped on that pepper spray…
“Here’s what the experts say:
If you encounter a city, do not run.
Avoid direct eye contact.
Walk away slowly, if the city is not approaching.
If the city charges, stand your ground (you cannot outrun it).
Don’t scream or yell. Speak in a soft monotone voice and wave your arms to let the city know you are human.
If you have pepper spray, prepare to use it.
If the city charges to within 25 feet of where you’re standing, use the spray.
If the city makes contact, curl up into a ball on your side, or lie flat on your stomach.
Try not to panic; remain as quiet as possible until the attack ends.
While in city country, be aware that you may encounter a city at any time.
Be sure the city has left the area before getting up to seek help.”
Words to live by. Good luck with your move, whoever you are.
Got a question you’d like a Stray Dad to answer? Ask it in the comments. Next time: We’ll finally answer how much booze is too much!
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