Table of Contents
Hi friends!
Quite a few of my readers have ties to Israel/Palestine/Lebanon where war is breaking out. I really hope you and your peeps are safe. Lots of sadness over the past few days and misinformation on social media. As a Jewish and left-y person, I’m trying to find reliable, unbiased sources of information (which has been VERY difficult). I don’t want to write about any of it here, at least not this week. No matter where your opinions lie on the conflict, I’m always here to chat and learn.
NYU, but I’m not talking about the institution
One of my favorite (but occasionally most stressful) parts of living in New York is the ability to host long-distance friends from all stages of your life. Because hotel rates are astronomical and plenty of people want to visit the city (and you), being someone’s landing pad for a weekend is a much more common situation than anywhere else I’ve lived.
Up until early this morning, Meera and I hosted my senior year roommates Ria and Anaïs for nearly a full week. They live in Seattle and outside of Sacramento, so having all three of us in the same room went from a daily occurrence to a rare opportunity. We had a blast, and I am reminiscing fondly while on the clock today (ugh). Obviously, much of the fun exists because of the relationship we have together and the intimacy we easily fall into since we know what it’s like to be mundane with one another. I cannot neglect another major factor in why this week was so wonderful: the city itself. Both girls are planning on moving here, and we traversed various neighborhoods to imagine what their lives could be like.
A trip with great friends is always a good time (exceptions: a trip in a fun city where one person does not want to leave the hotel, a trip with one person who refuses to pay for anything, and girl groups with zero Miami natives going to Miami). New York is the perfect place to host friends because of its infinite activities, food, and places to walk around. After walking home on a sleepy Tuesday after grabbing pizza, one friend said I just love New York! and she is right. I like to think I am pretty good at being grateful for where I am, but having guests reminds me of the small moments I may take for granted. I get to fall in love with the city all over again through their experience.
Some of my friends’ favorite parts of the city were walkability, the large concentration of fun in every neighborhood, and the ease of hanging out with others. An observation they and others around me have made: living in New York can feel like college. I have friends in walking distance who make spontaneous plans and can have a fabulous time anywhere, from a cozy evening at an apartment to a raucous night at one of Stefon voice New York’s hottest clubs. In other American cities, you have to worry about driving to any type of plan, and there may not be as diverse opportunities for joy.
Additionally, there is a different kind of singleness to the city. So many people are single and overwhelmed by the options (and sometimes, oddly, lack thereof) that they do not foresee themselves settling down for a long time. I think part of this is also because, at least to me, it’s much easier to live a wholly individual life in a place with endless ways to spend your time. In a city with less to do and people further away from you, it’s easier to get lonely. I think a part of why people in less populated places get married and have kids earlier is because, subconsciously, they are bored. This is not to say that people in these places who marry young are not in it for the right reasons. I’m just postulating that building a family gives you something new and meaningful to do. You can only go axe throwing with your friends so many times.
Prioritizing friendship and feeling like the world is at your fingertips…sounds a lot like college to me. Many Americans say college was the best time of their life, and walkable communities provided by campuses play a substantial part in why this is the case. Conversely, real American life post-college can be isolating, bogged down by the struggles provided by capitalism and car-centric lands. People grow up or come from all over the world to New York to work fascinating jobs, but that does not have to stop them from living a full life.
I feel much younger now than I did in New Hampshire when I was actually younger. There, I worked hard and could not really play hard in return. I went to the gym, sipped beers with my friends, and reveled in daily chores with Meera. All of these activities were extremely enjoyable, but your Overton window of fun shifts once you can now see world-renowned performers and dine at Michelin restaurants. You have the power to hop on a train or hop into your sneakers and see so much world in such a packed space. How could you not feel invincible?
College is a dreamy, detached time. You can fall into echo chambers of thinking. You can take some things way too seriously and others not seriously enough. You can fall victim to the bubble and forget that life outside of it hosts a variety of challenges. In some ways, you are more open-minded than ever before, but other times you could not be more closed off.
So who is living a collegiate life in New York outside of actual students? People like me — young people (often transplants) with enough money to get by and have extra cash to spend on joy. They are caught up in the romance of New York that lives in literature and media, an American dream filled with opportunities. They are protagonists in their own stories, giggling and yearning through chapters of life. They are reflective but heavily focused on the self. Everything they do and see must relate back to them, which can lead them to relating to concepts they cannot experience or shutting themselves off from listening to others (very Hannah Horvath from Girls). They are open to the world around them, but are they really that open to going above 14th Street?
These ingénues can very easily become Gentrifier Olympians. They benefit from decades of community building in such a massive place that they turn inwards and very me, me, me. Just because their hodgepodge crew of friends from work, college, and extracurriculars are similarly lulled does not mean their experience is universal. The majority of New Yorkers are flummoxed by expensiveness in all facets of life. They have bills to pay and families to feed. Natives are being priced out of their homes and neighborhoods, and the people who can afford to move in may be newbies sold on a dream and willing to go to a laundromat from their fifth-floor walkup.
Life here is still hard sometimes because it is life. Most transplants and young people deal with financial and career struggles. They easily fall into a hamster wheel of keeping up with the ever-changing attitudes and styles of the world around them. They grapple with who they really are as well as how to transport a table from Facebook Marketplace through a train station. They may be far from family and are adjusting to a place that can be wildly different from where they used to call home. People say you can’t call yourself a New Yorker until you’ve lived here for 10 years. Even people who moved here decades ago still may not feel like one. As uncannily easy it’s been for me to adjust to living here, I do not feel like a New Yorker the way I still feel like a Granite Stater, Bostonian, or (yes, this is a real word) Pittsburgher. The city’s evolving identity is kept afloat by its proud natives, especially in the face of struggle. Where do transplants fit in a place known for having a large transient delegation?
A factor in how hard it is to feel like a New Yorker is the romance of living here. So much of your identity is rooted in coming from elsewhere and just take, take, taking from the city to follow your dreams or have an exciting life. One community cleanup or even constantly getting a BEC from the bodega down the block is not going to change this. When you come into such a large place as an outsider, it is hard to be an essential community member when you might just up and leave in a few years.
College is usually a two to eight-year period, not a whole life. I and plenty of other transplants live in joyful turbulence, but I have no idea when we will graduate. When everything slows down, if everything slows down, you are either left enjoying and sealing your fate as a lifelong resident or feeling drained and ready to move elsewhere. There are varying degrees of sucking a city dry, and people have trouble giving back while being such a user of New York.
Some people I talk to come here with a specific time frame in mind. Others, after living here for a bit, know for a fact that they want to raise their kids here and want their last words to be Hey, I’m walking ‘ere! I have absolutely no idea where I stand. I just want to stay here as long as I am happy and can afford it. I’m not sure if life calming down looks like it did in the other places I’ve lived, but if I can look at the World Trade Center on my walk home from a busy day of gym/nails after work, I think that will be enough for me.
How to successfully host friends in New York (and sometimes elsewhere)
Hold a physical place for all trip inspiration. I love making a Google Doc filled with inspo. I went a little crazy with a multi-page analysis of places to enjoy. Ria highlighted must-dos, which was very helpful.
Write down explicit directions home from the airport. If they are not Ubering or taxiing home, this will be the worst part of their trip. Give them detailed notes on how to get to your place, all the way down to the right exit to take from your train stop.
Make your home feel homey. Make your couch or air mattress as blankety and cozy as possible. Fill your home with snacks and drinks. Clean your darn shower!
Walk like crazy (and like sane). This trip will probably be the most walking they do in months. Make their legs sore. This is the best way to immerse them in the city. Show them otherworldly walks and quick jaunts to the coffee shop. The normalcy of walking everywhere should be felt.
Show them some green space. Concrete jungle, indeed. This makes urban green space that much more special. Large ones like Central Park and Prospect Park are easy anchors with smaller parks woven through your week.
Give them time for a solo odyssey. They deserve time to reflect and feel confident in this busy city. Having a morning of their own to grab a bagel and walk around a new neighborhood will ground them, and make this place feel more real than a mythical vacation location.
Take them somewhere they won’t find where they live. New York is home to world-class museums and performance venues — plus cuisines you cannot find in most American cities. Show them how New York is unlike any city in the world.
Introduce them to your friends here. New York attracts people with interesting jobs and/or lives. Many are transplants and hungry for meaning. Lots of them are fun. Go enjoy.
Eat. It won’t be hard to blow their minds. Prioritize places you have been to before but be sure to have some new culinary experiences of your own.
Stay out past 3:30 for at least one night. Hopefully multiple. New York is allegedly less of a city that never sleeps since the pandemic, but it’s still wildly better than most places. Dance until you check your phone and hope there’s still a good bite to eat open (and there will be).
This week’s photo is from taking the girlies to the Guggenheim on a muggy Friday afternoon. Note: the main part is closed while they install new work, so maybe pick a different museum. Ria saw this Picasso and said that the lady on the far left is making a face I make all the time. Here is me posing. Uncanny, no?
Olympic Coaching
Breakup advice, moving on
— Over but not done
Two things first: I’m sorry you’re going through this, and I’m proud of you for figuring it out. Every breakup is different, and healing is never linear. Here are some tips that can help you no matter where in the process you are at:
Cut contact completely. I will probably write a newsletter one day about how breakups should always be a hard stop. Healing is much less possible when you continue checking in and relying on each other. If you really want to, tell them you are stopping contact. Block them eventually if that helps you. They do not serve your life anymore. There are very few exceptions to this rule, and if you are a young person without children reading this, you are probably not an exception.
Feel the feelings as they come. Especially if you are early in the breakup process, grieve however your body tells you. If you need to cry in bed all day, go on a long drive, or get shwasted with your friends, make it happen. Check in on yourself and make sure you’re staying safe and not preventing yourself from living your life. Reflecting during this numbing or, conversely, emotionally turbulent process is key.
Immediately go feral on Spotify. Build as many playlists as you need to. During one of my breakups, I immediately made three playlists: one sad, one angry, and one for feeling sexy and confident. Rely on your music. Listen through your old songs together if you need to. Or never listen again and find something new.
Lean on your people. In relationships, we often retreat into ourselves and ignore our support system. This is an immature flaw that we can hope to grow from as we continue in our romantic life. If you found yourself doing that, apologize to the people who matter to you. They are here to lift you up and listen to you tell the same story over and over.
Date yourself. I hate that phrase! It’s cheese central, but the sentiment is correct. I do not know the circumstances of your breakup, but a large part of this experience is the loss of former routines. Now is your time to create new rituals and learn more about yourself. A lot has changed since the last time you were single. Reevaluate the activities you enjoy and places you seek meaning. Build your confidence through (attempting) consistent acts of self-love.
You will feel different throughout this process, but you will learn so much about yourself. There is an element of this that’s exciting, but you’ll only see that when you reflect. What you gain here will serve you for the rest of your life, even outside of romantic pursuits. Again, I am so proud of you!
Want advice from someone as unqualified but possibly more confident than you? Send in a question for Olympic Coaching.
Current fixations I want to mention
Food & Drink
How lucky am I to live near such fantastic restaurants? A few blocks from the Morgan L stop are a series of life-changing eateries that I am slowly eating my way through. My visitors this week were craving Asian food, so I thought having Thai within walking distance at Chiangmai Diner would serve us well. The sprawling space is filled with cozy tables nestled under lanterns. The menu is overwhelmingly large, filled with a plethora of Northern Thai dishes sure to render even the most confident orderer indecisive. The surprise of the night was how otherworldly their cocktails were. A few of us ordered the fruity and gingery Wa-Jai-Dai-Ka, and Meera got the lychee-infused Lin-Ping. These are some of the best cocktails I’ve ever tasted, and I had no idea upon entering that I would enter a new dimension of deliciousness. The food’s quality mimicked the cocktails. Everyone’s meals arrived hot soon after we ordered. I am one of those Pad Thai constant orderers, and I am slightly ashamed. I know there are other amazing dishes to try, but I just love it so much. Its presentation was beautiful, and the noodles were perfectly flavorful. I tried Meera’s Massaman curry and similarly ascended. I now have no choice but to eat through the whole menu for the rest of my life.
Music
A great trip creates many motifs and inside jokes. While getting ready to go out on their first night here, we started talking about the mid-2010s classic “Mr. Saxobeat” by Alexandra Stan. The beginning of many playthroughs this week, the song played again immediately after first listening, and none of us felt the need to skip the song. Eurodance songs from this era like “Stereo Love” (not the Maroon 5 song, the Edward Maya song. You’ll know it as soon as you hear it.) powered our adolescence and top hits radio stations. Their use of less conventional pop instruments and Eastern European accents provide a memorable experience. I love the way Alexandra Stan pronounces the words sweet, freak, and dirty. I could not stop imitating the mm-yUAhh that repeats as the chorus. The electronic saxophone creeps quickly as the song begins, and no so-called free thinker is immune from the dancing that will ensue. I am an Alexandra stan.
Internet & Pop Culture
I just love the phrase F**k A** Bob. For those uninformed, a f**k a** bob is a bob haircut that unequivocally slays. Not all bobs have this designation; they must be crisp and commanding. Being gay and on the Internet is such a pleasure because gay people exaggerate or highlight the most mundane or random things. This phrase is an example. Plenty of women have bobs, and they are typically known as either an unfortunate haircut for a little girl or a conscious choice for an assumably corporate woman over 38. Queer people can’t just say something is great, they have to say something like She graduated from Slay University with a PhD in c*ntology. F**k a** bob has been said about women like Velma from Scooby Doo, Twitter CEO Linda Yaccarino, and Edna Mode from The Incredibles. One of the largest recipients of the designation is Vogue editor Anna Wintour. She came out of her mother and will die with that f**k a** bob on her head. Someone recently posted a picture of when Wintour had a f**k a** bob-off with true nepo baby Harper Beckham at a fashion show a few years ago. The replies are in favor of Beckham’s bob, showing a child bob beating out the seasoned veteran of the bob war. Both of them would lose to the best f**k a** bob, which sits atop my Nonna’s head.
Television & Maybe Movies
I cannot believe that I am doing a repeat, but I have to once again shout out The Real Housewives of Salt Lake City. During the downtime this week while my guests were here, we spent TV time eating up the Bravo classic. We watched the latest episode at the start of the trip, and our guests had never previously seen an episode. They enjoyed it just as much as Meera and I did. The episode was stellar, including Mary Cosby insulting Heather’s outfit unprovoked and Monica consistently proving how mother she is (Get! Your! Hands! Out! Of! My! Face!). I gave my girls context behind the show’s premise and who these women are. This led to oodles of questions that were eventually answered by watching bits of the show’s earlier seasons. Jen Shah was the central drama starter in the earlier seasons before she was imprisoned for defrauding the elderly (and is now friends with another celebrity at the prison, Theranos founder Elizabeth Holmes). Even juicier, her arrest happened when the ladies were all about to embark on a girls trip, and much of the incident was caught on camera. We watched the episode, and it is wild to see how the ladies piece together events in real-time (Lisa is definitely sus, and Whitney surprisingly predicts a lot of how things transpired). We then started the show from the very beginning and watched a strong chunk of season one. It is wild to rewatch the show and see how influential and sketchy Jen Shah is with her wealth, anger, and horde of “assistants.” Episode one is immediately hilarious because the initial feud is Jen Shah versus Mary Cosby (who is married to her step-grandfather, and you should watch the show to learn why) when Mary tells Jen she “smells like hospital.” These ladies are almost as bizarre as Meredith Marks’ unplaceable dialect. Watching Ria and Anaïs both fall in love with the show is proof that if you love reality television but have not given RHOSLC or the Real Housewives in general a chance, you have a whole lot of silliness in store.
Journalism & Literature
I cheer when an article is really just a personal narrative. The Atlantic’s cover story for their October issue “I Never Called Her Momma” is senior editor Jenisha Watts’ story of growing up, which began in her mother’s Kentucky crack house. Watts illustrates how her mother consistently chose drugs over her children and the complicated relationship they still have today. She writes this as a new mother having to reflect on the mothers before her. Watts learns devastating news about her family through the research and interviews done in the making of this article. The essay covers class, race, education, and, of course, family. Weaved through the story is her love of language and the power of words. Beautiful read!
Something I Saw in the Wild
My friend Anaïs and I were walking through Bushwick during intermittent rain, her wearing a beautiful black ensemble (as usual) and me wearing my abhorrent yet effective neon green rain jacket — frighteningly tight hood activated. We happened upon a stunningly ornate, massive church in a neighborhood where most places of worship sit in unassuming buildings. While we gawked at the church, a man parked behind us yelled from his car asking if we went to this church. Since I was closer to his car, I answered that we were just admiring it. He threw out some sort of flirty You’re gorgeous! brand of comment. I looked at him and he said Not you before looking behind me at Anaïs and asking for her name. We walked away laughing and did not respond. He said I like the way you walk! Ayeeee! I am not sure what is funnier, the way my neon-hooded self caught a stray or how he said Ayeeee! as we walked off. We must find humor in the audacity of men.