My journey through the boroughs of New York hasn’t always been comfortable or satisfying, nor has it been what I expected. I can no longer say with confidence I will die here. 

I recently finished reading Sari Botton's "Goodbye to All That: Writers on Loving and Leaving New York." It helped me through a particularly trying time during my tenure in the city, and I wrote about it for Writer's Bone, a website for writers.  

Let the Sun Shine In: 5 Inspiring NYC Sunsets

The chilling, 40-something-degree air that blasted the city a few days ago, the gray and rainy skies in the forecast, and the changing leaves indicate that the brightest and warmest days may have reached their expiration date—at least for this calendar year.

Dull, dreary skies do absolutely nothing to boost my mood or creativity. I much prefer the city’s concrete skyscrapers against a pink-, orange-, purple-, yellow-, and red-speckled backdrop. New York City boasts some of the most jaw-dropping, awe-inspiring sunsets I’ve ever seen. Seriously. Many have stopped me dead in my very-rushed tracks on the street, while others have lured me to my apartment building’s rooftop. 

On the worst days, these spectacles of color above the towering buildings give city dwellers the memo that whatever garbage urban life tosses their way, life is still beautiful. Other days, the glistening skies are a simple reminder that New York is the best city in the world, and as its inhabitants, we truly are lucky to live here. 

While I’ve gaped at countless New York sunsets, a handful stand out—ones that evoked a raw emotion that has stuck with me years later. In honor of my five-year New York anniversary, which I celebrated earlier this month, I present the five most inspiring NYC sunsets I’ve ever laid eyes on. 

Battery Park, May 15, 2010: The sound of cheering gave me pause as I read Betty Friedan’s The Feminine Mystique on a park bench that afternoon. While a dozen fisherman had their baited casting-rods resting on the park’s bulkhead, when I looked up from my book, I noticed the applauding small crowd had gathered near one in particular. He had the catch of the day, a fish roughly two-feet long—if memory serves me right—straight from the Hudson River. After celebrating his victory with a few photographs, he released the finned creature back to the river. An hour later, overlooking the Hudson, the sky was painted yellow and orange as the sun set over Lady Liberty in the distance. It was such a spectacular sunset that, even though I was surrounded by strangers, I felt I could not experience it alone. I called my mother to describe the scene before me.          

My First New York Fourth of July, 2010: I romanticize this day and particular sunset because my first Fourth of July in the city felt like quintessential New York. I was still slinging lattes at Starbucks in Times Square at the time and had spent the morning serving java to tourists who did not fully understand the day’s significance. However, I was done with work early enough to try my luck at getting on the Governor's Island Ferry for She & Him’s free show that night. The line for the ferry that wrapped practically around all of lower Manhattan foiled that plan, so my friends and I wandered the Financial District sipping on whiskey and Coke in a McDonald’s cup before deciding to have drinks at the Frying Pan—a historic floating lighthouse that doubled as a bar. Eventually, we made our way to a rooftop in Williamsburg for a perfect view of the Macy’s 4th of July Fireworks. But before the pyrotechnics lit up the sky, Mother Nature did her job.     

The High Line, May 16, 2012: This sunset has made an appearance on City Dweller before. It was an inspiration for Striving to Thrive, an essay that essentially helped guide me through a quarter-life crisis.  

The sun filled the sky with different hues of orange and pink as it set over the Hudson River. I realized I had been anchored to a wooden bench at the High Line for over two hours feverishly writing and listening to music. I put my pen down, turned off my music, and heard a group of women next to me laughing as they sang Happy Birthday to a friend. “God, the sun is gorgeous,” I heard one of them say. I peered toward the river and felt at ease. 

Office View, November 8, 2012: Hurricane Sandy had wrecked havoc on the city two weeks before, causing horrific damage to homes and shutting off power all over New York and New Jersey. The wound was still very fresh. The MTA had just reconnected outer-borough residents to Manhattan via rail, sending the suits and skirts back to the office after a week of either standing in an hours-long line for a bus shuttle to the island or working from home. One afternoon during that first week back to the office, these pink rays reflected on my computer screen, gravitating me to the window. After many, many dreary days that were far from over, this magnificent sky appeared. It was one of those life-is-beautiful moments. 

As Seen from Astoria, June 3, 2014: These puffy pink clouds peeped through my second-floor apartment window that evening. I could not see what was beyond the pink hues from the window, but imagined something special brewing in the sky. There was no rule about roof access verbally communicated to us, (our super lives in the building, which as six units on four floors), but I had recently worked up the courage to go up there, so up I went. Set before me was the entire New York City skyline from Washington Heights to the Freedom Tower, and even parts of Brooklyn, speckled in yellows, oranges, reds, pinks, and purples. All I could think was, “This is my view. I’m so fortunate.” 

You can bet, I’ll be up there for many more sunsets.

From the Archives: New Freedom

The entire day felt like poetry

“Be free,” she said.

And I was.

Every moment felt core-shaking.

Consuming history through the marble halls.

“I love the smell of books,” she said.

“It’s paper,” I responded.

“I love the smell of paper.”

Smoke filled the air

A new sensation filled my lungs.

Color splashed across the trees,

Drowning out the gray concrete buildings.

“We’re ants,” she said.

 Roaming free among the slaved. 

Creative minds of the past inspired the youth of today.

Bright lights of Broadway reflected off the wet streets

"Let the sun shine,

Let the sun shine...”

The sun shined in to my life that day.

It felt like an illusion.

Then a dirty alcoholic on the subway yelled,

“Shut the fuck up you crack head,”

Seemingly to no one.

How can it be so perfect, so real?

As the rain drops hit my face, I began to cry.

I held everything in the palm of my hand

And I knew that was what it felt like to be free.

(Originally posted to City Dweller Oct. 24, 2009.) 

Five years ago today, I embarked on the two-day journey through four states to move into a fifth-floor walkup in Manhattan. The years have moved me from Manhattan to Queens to Brooklyn and then back to Queens. It was the best move I've ever made.

The One Where They Celebrated Five Years in New York 

I've known this woman for over 20 years, and five years ago this week, we decided to try our luck at NYC together. 

From the Archives: Misadventures at Coney Island

(Originally posted on City Dweller June 9, 2010.) Almost as soon as I moved to New York, I could hear it calling my name. “Step right up, Lindsey!” The shores echoed. “Come see the wonderment that is Coney Island!” Circus music played in my head and I imagined a strange land with strange people. As soon as the weather broke, I stepped right up. Just weeks after Luna Park opened, my roommate and I boarded the Q train at 57th St. Twenty-four stops and nearly two hours later, we landed at Coney Island. I was sorely disappointed to discover there were no freaks. Not even at the “Shoot the Freak” booth on the boardwalk. Sorry Brooklyn, but a balding man in a white T-shirt does not a freak make. It may have been because it was a random Tuesday, but I saw more “freaks” at Venice Beach last summer than I did at Coney Island. I expected the area, which had its hey-day in the early 20th century, to be tattered and torn. Despite new developments, that’s exactly how it was. The boardwalk croaked under our feet as we entered at Surf Ave. As we peered down the strip I was surprised at how small it was. Beyond Nathan’s lies a handful of carnival food stands, Deno’s Wonder Wheel Amusement Park, Luna Park and the New York Aquarium. It didn’t seem like much of an attraction at all. Still, we walked through Deno’s to see what all the excitement was about. The Wonder Wheel, in its 90th year, was pretty impressive. The Cyclone, from what I could see and hear — scary. Bored with the boardwalk and excited to be near the ocean, we kicked off our shoes and hopped on the scorching sand. About half way through our walk to the shore, we were trapped in a sand storm. That should have been our warning. We found a spot a dozen feet away from the waves and oiled up. Nearly two minutes later, another gust of wind propelled the fine sand to pelt and layer our oiled bodies. My roommate, sans sunglasses, ended up with grains of sand in her eye. My creamy peanut butter sandwich soon became crunchy. “Are we done with this yet?” my roommate asked as I lay on the beach laughing at the situation. “It’s not funny,” she moaned in pain. Several sand storms later, we called it quits.

After rinsing off in the rest room, I bought two strong strawberry daiquiris and we soaked up the sun on the boardwalk. No trip to Coney Island is complete without a Nathan’s Famous — a chili cheese dog for me, chili fries for my roommate. We found a bench near the beer island that was blasting classic rock and mowed down on the highly-caloric delicious food. We enjoyed our favorite game of people watching on the boardwalk. A young Asian girl played with a beach ball in a water fountain. An angry father stormed to Nathan’s upon discovering his daughter’s chicken wasn’t cooked. “This is one of the worst hot dogs I've ever had. That's too bad,” he mumbled. A herd of motorcycle police scurried by a group of bored teenagers. Still, no freaks. Stuffed and sunburned, we made our way back to our island bringing some of Coney Island back with us — in our hair.

[Ed note: I've since returned to Coney Island and had a more enjoyable time when I wasn't going for the beach. Also, farewell Summer 2014.]

From the Archives: My First New York

(Originally posted on City Dweller April 2, 2010. This photo was taken months later on July 4 just before the Macy's fireworks lit up the sky.)

Six months ago my lifelong dream of moving to New York City came true. Shortly after I unpacked everything and settled into my apartment, I got an email about a New York Magazine book that was in the works. Titled My First New York, the editors were searching for nonfiction, first person stories from brand-new New Yorkers about their first days in the city. I hadn’t been in the city for a week but I knew I had to submit something. I spent my third weekend in the city devoted to what I wanted to say about recently moving to the city.

Months later, the book has been released. Even though the book is without my story, I decided to share what I submitted as a bright-eyed newbie to the city that never sleeps.

                                                                           My First New York 

On my 22nd birthday, which fell just one week after I moved to New York, I discovered how unpredictable the city is. After attending an art show in Chelsea, eating pizza in the West Village, and sucking back a few beers at a pub on the Upper East Side, I awoke to a man peeing in my kitchen garbage can. New York City always had an element of surprise that I was yearning to discover. I grew up in Warren, Michigan, a blue-collar suburb 20 minutes from Detroit. The average length of residency is 35.5 years, but I had a strange sense that if I stayed in Warren for the rest of my life, there would always be something missing. When I graduated from college with a journalism degree in May, Michigan’s unemployment rate was 14 percent and the transitional state of the media did not seem promising for recent graduates. The Detroit News and The Detroit Free Press had just cut back on home delivery. Publications folded; buyouts and budget cuts continued. The challenge of finding a full-time job after graduation seemed impossible. Despite the national recession and the city’s increasing unemployment rate, I couldn’t think of a reason not to move to New York City. I know I’m gambling with my first experience of financial independence on one of the most expensive cities in the world. The uncertainty is a bit unsettling, but having a place to live and a job decreases my perceived level of insanity. I was fortunate to find a job before moving to the city. Becoming a certified barista at Starbucks in Times Square is not the glossy magazine I had hoped to land after graduation. Nonetheless, it will help me adjust to the city’s cultural diversity, pay my bills and will be an experience worth living in the city for.   There is one thing I can always expect from New York — inspiration that will help propel me into a full-time writer. This creative playground sends me into a writing frenzy, and I love knowing it always will. I’ve also often wondered whether I’ll find love in New York. In Michigan, I was more closed off to relationships, mainly because I always felt there was somewhere else I needed to be. Since my career is a high priority right now, I’m hoping something will come to me when I least expect it. I found an apartment only two hours before I had to be on a flight back to Detroit. “Yes, I would totally move here,” I overheard a woman say to someone on the phone while she was sitting at the gate in La Guardia. I had just learned the difference between saying “I want to move to New York” and actually doing it. My dad helped my new roommate and I move into a fifth-floor walkup in Yorkville in October 2009. When he saw the size of the apartment and compared it with the amount of stuff we had, he wondered how it would all fit. “We’ll make it work,” I told him. He couldn’t believe we would be willing to pay $1,400 for a studio apartment that has enough room for our two beds and not much else. My family and friends often ask how different living in New York is from Michigan. I tell them about the monotonous tasks of life. I take the subway to work instead of a car, I make dinner in a smaller kitchen and do my laundry at a laundromat. I sometimes think they expect me to tell them about someone else’s glamorous life. Then I step outside myself and realize it is a glamorous life. I have been dreaming of my New York life for a very long time. It is exactly how I had pictured it — with the exception of a stranger peeing in my kitchen.                                                                                                

                                                                                                             ****

New York, New York — Happy six months with me.

A Life-Changing Assignment

Michigan's current economic conditions are forcing many recent college graduates to move. The Post introduces a new series designed to make the transitions as easy as possible. Learn how to wake up comfortably in the city that never sleeps — that's right, we're starting with NYC.

– By Contributing Reporter, Lindsey Wojcik

There it was staring back at me. My name on the cover of my college newspaper. Tactile evidence of the two weeks spent researching, interviewing, neglecting homework, and crafting prose that described a place I had yet to see but so desperately wanted to one day call home. It would be two years before I could officially call New York City my home and even months before my first visit as a tourist, however, I owe much of the success of my life as a New Yorker to a story I wrote as a college sophomore.

"The Grizzly Guide to Making it in the Big Apple" appeared in the March 7, 2007 issue of the Oakland Post. Truthfully, it was a passion project. I had written a few stories for my college newspaper before, however, when I heard the pitch for a series of stories covering potential cities that Oakland students might move to after college during a weekly writer's meeting, I seized the opportunity.

The assigning editor asked that the writer contact alumni who currently lived in the city of choice and cover four basic topics: where to live, work, eat and play. It was a perfect opportunity for me learn about what life in New York was really like, while also grasping the realities of life in the city like average rents and in-demand careers.

Perhaps it was unethical, but as I conducted my research and and spent hours interviewing alumni I hoped to answer one question: Could my lifelong dream of living in New York become a reality after graduation? (Surely, if I was wondering, other Oakland students were, too.) My sources made the answer abundantly clear through the advice they gave me.

The finished piece barely scratched the surface. It was a cut-and-dry how-to guide for navigating city life, and it was exactly what the editor wanted. I was proud of the final product—it gained the attention of key editors and the newspaper's faculty advisor and eventually helped me become the editor in chief of the paper my senior year.

The body copy of the story did not answer my question though. It was a quote that was used for an "Advice from Alumni" sidebar that stuck with me. Kerri Schlottman, a 1998 graduate, said: "Be brave and do it. The hardest thing about moving here is the idea of moving here." It was the first glimmer of hope. I could move to New York, I just had to get over the idea of moving to there.

When I resolved in 2009 to move to the city after graduation, I struggled to overcome that hurdle. I was met with resistance from family members who could not conceive how I would live in America's most expensive city on minimum wage. Even I was unsure that I would get an apartment without a job and little savings. Then I saw an old issue of The Oakland Post in a stack of newspapers, books, and magazines on my bedroom floor. "New York Brought Down to Size." I re-read the story, which inspired me to re-read my notes. My notes were a gold mine filled with advice from the alumni that ended up on the cutting room floor two years prior. Their words of encouragement helped me ignore my family's concerns, do what was right for me, and just take that leap to become a New Yorker.

A week after I moved to the city, I met one of my sources in person for the first time at an art gallery that was exhibiting his work in Chelsea. We reminisced about the article, and I thanked him for his advice. It would take me awhile to learn how to wake up comfortably in the city that never sleeps, but I realized without "The Grizzly Guide to Making it in the Big Apple," I could have never made it here.

The Grizzly Guide to Making it in the Big Apple

(Editor's note: This story originally appeared in Oakland University's student newspaper, The Oakland Post, on March 7, 2007. Here is the final version as it was printed, still ridden with some small grammatical errors. Note that many of the prices and places may no longer exist.)    Four years and a diploma, and now it’s time to enter the “real” world. An overwhelming number of decisions face Oakland University graduates, such as where to look for a job and where to live. Although some OU alumni may make their start in Michigan, others, like Kerri Schlottman, a 1998 graduate, Nancy Vitale, a 2001 graduate and David Hartzel, a 2003 graduate, will migrate elsewhere.

If you are looking to take a bite out of the Big Apple post-graduation, check out this guide to the New York City’s local scene.

Where to Work Wall Street and the fashion district attract career-driven graduates to NYC, but what are in-demand careers in New York’s metropolitan area? According to the New York State Department of Labor, the job market trends show increased positions in the following fields: financial services, business services, education and health services, leisure and hospitality, and government. “While these career fields are high in demand, career decisions should not be made solely on what is happening in the job market at the moment,” said Kayla Krupnick, a career development counselor at New York University’s Wasserman Center for Career Development. “Students must take a careful look at their skills, abilities, interests and long term job market trends to determine what careers and companies would be best for them,” Krupnick said. Where to Live Twenty to 30-somethings swarm to the East Village and the Lower East Side of Manhattan. “It’s where all the artists and musicians live,” Schlottman who lives in the East Village, said. “It’s where all the cool bars and music venues are, too.” Matt Chun, a rental agent for Best Apartments real estate brokerage firm in NYC said, “Renovated studio apartments in the East Village start at $1,425, one bedrooms range from $1,695, sometimes people can share a one bedroom and two bedrooms start at $1,795 depending on the area.” There are three types of apartments Chun explained. Renovated apartments are walk-up and might have laundry, semi-luxury have an elevator and laundry, and luxury have an elevator, laundry, a doorman and small gyms. “In the East Village, sometimes people spend more to get the laundry,” Chun said. Although rent in Manhattan seems high, Scholottman said, “You save money other ways; you get used to spending it on where you live. You’re paying for the environment.” If you don’t want to spend an arm and a leg for rent but still want the NYC experience, move to a borough. Brooklyn is a great area to get your feet wet in. “Brooklyn is a better deal and you get a much different apartment,” Chund said. Studio apartments in Brooklyn start at $1,000, one bedrooms range from $1,000 to $1,500 and two bedrooms start at $2,000 depending on the area. For more information, contact Chun at 212-920-4587 or visit www.bestaptsnyc.com.

Where to Eat “You could go to a different restaurant every single night and it would take you two or three years to go to every restaurant,” said Schlottman, who has been living in Manhattan for two years. “There is pretty much any restaurant you want in New York City, there’s any cuisine, which all authentic and any price range you want,” she said. Schlottman enjoys going to Supper in the East Village for Italian cuisine. “My boyfriend is a huge fan of Italian, so we go to a lot of Italian places like Supper.” Hartzel, who live in Brooklyn for a year and has since spent three years across the Hudson River in Hoboken, N.J., suggested Elmo in Chelsea. “I recommend the lamb—it’s the best! The also have the most exquisite drinks. “It’s a step up from living the college life because it pulls you into the New York atmosphere. It’s chic, it’s hip and it’s really cool,” he said. If you’re looking for Mediterranean, American Nouveau or Italian cuisine, look no further than Boom Restaurant in Soho. “It’s a Spanish infused restaurant, the sangria is fantastic and the ambiance is really dark,” Hartzel said. Vitalie, who has lived on the Upper West Side since Sept. 2004, said the West Village holds her favorite Sicilian restaurant, Palma. “You can sit in their open-air patio amidst lit trees and pretend that you’re not in a bustling city.” Where to Play New York City attracted as many as 44 million tourists in 2006, according to New York’s official tourism Web site NYC & Company, www.nycvisit.com. In other words, you will never be bored. Although true New Yorkers tend to shy away from touristy spots, there are some sights that every New Yorker must see at least once. Midtown Manhattan is tourist central and Rockefeller Center is the place to see when visiting New York. “You can go to the top of Rockefeller Center and get an amazing view of all of Manhattan. It’s better than the Empire State Building,” Schlottman said. The Staten Island Ferry gives a great view of New York City landmarks such as the Statue of Liberty and the Brooklyn Bridge. Vitale said, “Everyone should ride the Staten Island Ferry, which is free, past the Statue of Liberty for fun.” If you don’t want to feel like a tourist, New York offers a lot of great underground music, art and shopping. Schlottman said Soho is the best place for shopping and it’s filled with boutiques. “You can wager with people on the cost of stuff so it’s better then going to Midtown and going to Macys,” she said. “You can get one-of-a-kind jewelry and stuff so it makes it more interesting.” Hartzell suggests the West Village for underground music and art. “The West Village has a lot of piano bars that aren’t cliche and still have a sense of underground New York.” Employees Only in the West Village is reminiscent of an old speakeasy, with a 1920’s theme. “The bartenders are flappers; you have to knock on the door to get in and you enter into this paradise. It’s like Moulin Rouge. It’s really cool,” Hartzel said. Big production Broadway shows may seem intriguing but Vitale advises, “Get away from Broadway and head to the Off-Broadway or even Off-Off-Broadway theatres around town for high quality entertainment at half the price and with a quarter of the tourists.”

New York is all dressed up in Super Bowl love. Throughout the week from 6-7 p.m., the Empire State Building was illuminated with the colors of both participating Super Bowl teams—the Denver Broncos (orange and navy) and the Seattle Seahawks (bright green and blue). Fan tweets (#WhosGonnaWin) determined if the Empire State Building would be lit for the Broncos or Seahawks each night. The night I took this photo, ESB shone bright for the Broncos. Broadway has also been turned into Super Bowl Boulevard. (Though my boyfriend thinks Super Bowlevard would've sufficed, I'm inclined to agree.) We walked the stretch on Broadway between 34th St. and 47th St. last weekend when workers were setting up events like a toboggan slide and and NFL Rush Zone. There was not much activity last weekend, but we're venturing back tomorrow for the full experience. After all, how often does the Super Bowl come to town? Stay tuned for a report on the experience.

I've Got a Golden Ticket

That first purchase felt like I was being handed the keys to a shiny new car—although instead of golden keys it was a flimsy gold and blue plastic card that granted me access to a fleet of sometimes shiny, but mostly dingy silver cars filled with strangers.

Initially, I thought the $89 30-day unlimited fare was a steal. (Forgive me, I was a new resident who never experienced a fare under $2.) Compared to the monthly costs of a car payment (I must admit I have never paid one car payment in my life), insurance (no, I have never paid for that either), gas (an increasingly expensive necessity), and repairs (I had more than a few of those in my driving days), $89 was a bargain. Plus, I'd never have to deal with traffic jams on an overcrowded expressway, construction, or the threats of other drivers again. The MetroCard was the key to transportation euphoria. This was, of course, an illusion I tricked myself in believing.

A sampling of the MetroCards I've collected over the years. 

It was my first week in the city, and between having recently transferred Starbucks locations and taking time off to physically move, my cash flow was low, and I was adhering to a strict budget—a budget that couldn’t budge lest I go starving. On my first day at my new store, I headed to the 86th and Lexington station early to stand in line at the MetroCard vending machine. The vending machine was not hard to master, I had used it before on various trips into the city, though using it as a resident felt like a right of passage. Although the floor surrounding the vending machine was littered with receipts, instinct told me to select yes when prompted to print one. I tucked the receipt in my wallet and made my first MetroCard swipe as a New Yorker.

I enjoyed the unlimited access to the city with that MetroCard for another week or so until a bad swipe stopped me at a turnstile. Did I swipe too fast or too slow? Did I lift the card too soon? Was it user error, or was this particular turnstile out of commission? I didn’t have time to find out. Like most New Yorkers, I was in a hurry, so I swiped a few more times to no avail. I moved over to the next turnstile and became more irritated after receiving an error message. I approached the station’s service booth to inquire about the issue. The MTA attendant told me my card was defective and that I could not access the remaining funds on it. Agitation quickly flourished into infuriation. A week after I purchased my first unlimited MetroCard, and it was defective? What was I to do? The employee told me I’d have to mail the card and the receipt to the New York City Transit Headquarters to determine the problem and receive a potential refund for the remaining balance of the card. It could take weeks or months to process, the employee said. In the meantime, in order to travel by way of the MTA, I’d have to purchase a new MetroCard.

Another $89? I was making less than $10 an hour. How could I possibly squeeze this into my monthly budget? I was running late, so I bit the bullet and made another MetroCard purchase. It was the first of many knockdowns the city would eventually toss in my direction. When I returned home, I promptly sent the materials to 2 Broadway, New York, N.Y., and anxiously waited for the refund to be mailed. It arrived just in time for the purchase of my next monthly card. I’m glad I kept that receipt.

A personalized letter from the MTA with instructions on how to swipe.

My experience is not unlike that of the millions of other commuting New Yorkers. The plastic card has become an iconic symbol of the city—the MTA celebrated the 20th anniversary since the MetroCard was introduced earlier this week—that most residents must rely on but regard with strong contempt. New Yorkers will be damned and quickly enraged if when swiped, a green-lit message like “PLEASE SWIPE AGAIN,” “INSUFFICIENT FARE,” or “JUST USED” stares back at us at the turnstile. And losing a just purchased monthly MetroCard is a scenario not unlike losing car keys, wallet, or phone—I don’t even want to think about it.

Despite my initial experience with it  and frequent disdain for my daily commute (trading a car in which you’re the only passenger for a train full of cranky and often ignorant commuters is not trading up), MetroCards have became something of a keepsake for me. I didn’t get to save that first card that had to be sent back to the MTA, however, in the months and years that followed, I kept the old card when replacing it with a new one. Those little gold and blue plastic cards were my trophies that measured the time that passed as I conquered the city as a resident. When other inevitable hard times fell upon me in the city big or small, like my apartment being burglarized after celebrating my first year in the city or my first encounter with apartment mice, I could hold the MetroCards in my hand and see how even as months passed, I truly was living my lifelong dream of being a New Yorker.

I’ve collected 46 MetroCards, which accounts for three and a half years in the city. In 2013, the MTA added a $1 charge for each time a new card was purchased, and the novelty of saving the cards wore off. Though I’ve forsaken adding to my collection, I’m thankful for it, because in five years, the MetroCard may follow its predecessor, the subway token, and retire. The MTA has plans to phase out the MetroCard and replace it with some form of mobile, or credit or debit card payment system by 2019. Until then, I’ll keep swiping.    

Happy birthday, MetroCard. Thank you for being my golden ticket as I've navigated my New York life. 

#FlashbackFriday: My first snow day as a New Yorker in Central Park circa 2009.

From the Archives: The Arrival

(Originally posted on City Dweller October 4, 2009. While this video is amature at best, I am so thankful I have the first moments seeing the New York skyline as my home and the first steps into my first New York apartment on film. It's perhaps the most gratifying moment I've afforded myself to relive. Note: lindseykaywojcik.com is now defunct. )

“Is that the Empire State Building?” my father asked from the front seat of the Yukon. It was an overcast morning on an early October day, but when I looked out of the windshield I could confirm to the my father that yes, indeed that was the Empire State Building. After driving nearly nine hours the day before, sleeping at a Red Roof Inn in Pennsylvania, and driving another four hours, seeing the first glimpse of the New York skyline was a relief. Something changed as we drove closer to the city. The skyline flashed before my eyes and a million different thoughts ran through my head. It was the first time I was viewing the famous skyline as my home. Even though there was U-Haul trailer following behind us filled with all of my belongings, it still didn’t feel real. Nearly 48 hours later, after lugging two beds, a six foot Ikea Expedit shelf, seven suitcases, endless boxes of kitchenware and a sofa up five flights of stairs — it didn’t feel real. As we began piecing together the apartment room by room, it felt more like a dream. Jessica and I walked around our neighborhood today, bought groceries, went to the hardware store and it still didn’t feel real. We discovered the walk to Central Park was merely 10 minutes away from our apartment. As we walked around the Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis Reservoir, I wondered how long it would take for it to all seem real. We lived vicariously through “Gossip Girl” characters Serena and Blair by sitting on the steps of the Met before heading home to make dinner, but it still felt like a dream. I’m sure after a few weeks, I’ll get myself into a routine. Once I start work and get used to the independent lifestyle, I’m sure it will feel like I’ve finally arrived.

We'll All Get There

“This cannot happen on the N train,” I thought as my vision began to blur. I tightened my grip on the metal pole above my head and shifted my weight to the other side of my body. “I can fight this.” It was the last thing I remember thinking before waking up on the dirty train floor, surrounded by a crowd of horrified commuters.  “Are you okay?” “Do you want to sit down?” “Does anyone have any water?” “Do you want to take off your sweater?” I heard the faint flurry of inquiries bombarding me through one ear as I slowly regained consciousness and awareness of my surroundings. Justin Timberlake’s soothing voice was still streaming through my headphones in the other ear as I sat up. Someone helped me up on the newly vacant seat that a fellow passenger had given up in lieu of the event. My body quivered as another straphanger handed me an ice-cold bottle of water from their bag. I took a long swig, hoping it would calm my nerves and stop the excessive sweat seeping through every pore of my body. The questions did not stop. “Do you want to get off at the next stop?” asked a man. “No, I’m fine,” I slurred. “Are you sure? The next stop is...” His words faded into the crowd of onlookers still gasping in terror and prodding with questions of concern. “I’m fine,” I lied, chugging more water. A woman chimed in. “You should definitely get off at the next station. We’ll get you some help.” I was still completely dazed and now embarrassed, so I could not refute the strangers who were willing to help me. I sifted through my purse to be sure I hadn’t lost anything important during the fall. I recognized the important contents—wallet, keys, and phone—and slumped into the seat as we pulled into the station. “Do you have everything?” the woman asked. “I think so,” I mumbled. I felt the man’s tight grip around my bicep as he and the woman guided me off the train. I had no idea where we were. I thought the man said Fifth Avenue and 59th Street, but recognized the 59th and Lexington Avenue station immediately as the woman sat me on the closest bench on the platform. She cradled my arm and rubbed my back, comforting the still shaken stranger she had witnessed topple over in a crowded subway train. The man left in search of a MTA employee for help. I sat on there bewildered as the train—full of witnesses to the most vulnerable public moment of my life—stalled in the station. “Due to an earlier incident, we’re being held momentarily by the train’s dispatcher.” I heard the announcement and cringed. Some passengers stared at me on the bench as they impatiently waited for the announcement to “stand clear of the closing doors.” Others, annoyed by the delay and seemingly unfazed by my episode, left the train. “I hope this train isn’t delayed because of me,” I told the woman as the man returned to the bench. “It’s okay,” she replied. “They’ll all get to work sometime. I’m on my way to work too. We’ll all get there when we get there.” “Thank you so much for staying with me,” I said. “Did anyone press the emergency call button?”  “No, we didn't. We were almost to the station," said the man. "And they’re sending someone over help soon.” He asked me a series of questions regarding the possible reasons I passed out but grew impatient after several moments of waiting for assistance. “I’m going to see if someone is on their way.” “Thank you,” I said sympathetically as he walked away. It was the last I saw of him. The stalled train’s doors closed, and the scene of my medical emergency raced away through the tunnel.

The woman sat quietly with me until a police officer showed up five minutes later, and she was suddenly shaken again when the officer asked what happened. “She fainted in front of my eyes! She was pale and shaking and very sweaty,” she exclaimed passionately, putting her hand to my forehead. “Okay,” replied the officer. “How do you feel now?” “A little better but still shaken,” I replied. “I’m on my way to work,” the woman told the officer. “Okay, we’ll take care of her,” he told her. “Take care, sweetie. Feel better.” “Thank you. Have a nice day,” I replied. And she was on her way. The officer asked if I wanted an ambulance, but all I wanted was to hop in a cab, head home and curl up on the couch for the rest of the day. He guided me out of the station to hail a cab. We were standing on Lexington Avenue during the morning rush hour. The task seemed almost impossible as a fleet of yellow taxis brisked by, all occupied with passengers. The officer ran across street in an upstream attempt that proved successful—I’m positive his uniform helped snag a cab so quickly. The man that lost that cab to an NYPD officer scoffed but remained resilient and determined to catch a cab as he crossed the street for another go at it. The officer explained the situation to the driver as I waited for the crosswalk light to change. He flagged me over, held the door open for me, and wished me well. Moments later I was zooming across the Queensboro bridge. The cab driver, admittedly unfamiliar with Astoria, quickly found his way to the avenue I gave as a cross street and surprisingly turned the meter off six blocks before my destination, making it easy to give him the elusive 30-percent tip. He also wished me well as I exited the cab and idled on the corner until I entered my building. I spent the rest of the day recuperating on the couch, embarrassed by the event. I felt fine before boarding the train and even during the first five stops of the commute. But I knew, ultimately, my body’s warnings would overcome my resistance—I just could not bare the thought of losing control in such a public space. However, I was reaffirmed that I could not have chosen a better city as my public domain, because despite common misconceptions, New Yorkers are kind-hearted and caring individuals who will show up for their neighbors in times of adversity. I did not make it to work that day, but I hope the two strangers who sacrificed making it to their jobs on time to help me off the train and onto the platform, did so without repercussions. I am forever grateful for their kindness and will not think twice to offer help the next time I see someone in need.

One Year On: A Reader's Reflections

Weeks after I moved to New York, I celebrated my first Halloween in the city.

(Editor's note: This post originally appeared as a guest post on Sarah Protzman Howlett's New New Yorkers blog on October 18, 2010.)   

One of my longtime readers — who happens to be a beautiful writer — sent this in, and I couldn’t resist posting it. I recall how excited I was to have lived one year in the city. Thinking back on how long I wanted to make it happen and that wow, I really did it, the one-year anniversary is a big deal to any NYC transplant, whether you’ve moved here from the tri-state, Texas or Tehran.

Dear New York City,

It wasn’t long ago that your mesmerizing lure removed me from my simple midwestern life into the belly of your beast. You welcomed me into your arms as a visitor three years ago and the first moment I saw your beautifully structured skyline I fell — hard. A young impressionable woman, there was nothing I could do to stop it. I had determined long before that you and I belonged together, but it was during my second year at a small college in metro Detroit that your gritty garbage-lined streets gracefully laid the path for my future.

After we parted ways for the first time, I couldn’t get you out of my mind. You became an obsession. I impatiently awaited our second meeting and the day that we would be united long term. And now here I am, exactly one year after we made our commitment to each other as happy as I was the day we first met. The past twelve months haven’t always been easy, my love.

As I caught my breath after climbing my stairway to heaven, I looked wide-eyed at the fifth floor walk-up studio apartment where our love affair would begin. Those first few days on the Upper East Side were blissful. Our honeymoon period took us to a transforming Central Park and the Metropolitan Museum of Art. I walked around the neighborhood with my roommate in awe of the fact that we had finally made it.

A few days later our journey took us to the crossroads of the world — Times Square. It was there that I arrived at my own crossroad, questioning the strength of my love. In my new work environment, I learned the naivety I had uptown didn’t fit into your midtown madness. Nothing could have prepared me for what I was to embark on as a Starbucks barista in one of your town’s busiest stores. After the initial culture shock, I quickly understood that tourists, God love them, are one of your biggest flaws. Often times, New York, your visiting friends cannot comprehend your complexity. However irritating that may be, they are yours and over time I have come to embrace your imperfections.

Our love flourished during autumn. When I wasn’t committed to the chaos of Times Square, I explored you inside and out taking long walks gazing at your towering buildings. Though you provided me with endless amounts of entertainment, I began to feeling lonely and neglected. The simplicity of our relationship was about to vanish.

I wasn’t here to only be with you. I had to commence my editorial career. As the bitter coldness blanketed the city at the turn of the year, I undertook an editorial internship at Time Out New York in addition to working at Starbucks. It is my understanding New York, that you never sleep and it was around this time I learned the reasons why. Your business is never done and neither was mine. We lost touch during those five months but I couldn’t have made it without you.

The renewal of our affection blossomed as spring sprung. We spent afternoons underneath cherry blossoms on the Great Lawn in Central Park, explored the beauty of Wave Hill’s serene gardens and strolled high above the streets at the High Line. Soon thereafter I fell into a deep period of personal discovery. As the summer heat wave began, we entered a bit of a wild phase. There were moments I felt I couldn’t keep up with you — you sure know how to party — but I felt lucky knowing you would still be mine.

I know you’ve had commitment problems in the past. Some people simply can’t make it with you after a year, and I honestly don’t know what the future holds, New York, but I’m looking forward to it. As we begin our second year together please know how grateful I am to have you in my life. Your inspiration is endless and I cannot wait to explore what else this relationship has in store for us.

Love always, Lindsey Kay

During my morning commute, I witnessed two men squeeze into a crowded downtown one train. On a typical morning, restless New Yorkers would have shouted, "This train is full. Get on the next train!" The men were wearing navy uniforms baring New York City Fire Department patches. No one said anything and many thanked them as they got off the train. Our city, our country, never forgets.

From the Archives: OMFG, so close!

(Originally posted on City Dweller Nov. 9, 2009, when Gossip Girl was still relevant.)

To say I stumbled upon the location where “Gossip Girl” was filming today would be stretching the truth. During my midtown window shopping excursion, I remembered that On Location Vacations reported where “Gossip Girl” would be filming. As I walked toward 45th Street on 6th Avenue I spotted pink signs. The sign on the light pole confirmed that I was somewhere in the vicinity of Chace Crawford, Ed Westwick, Leighton Meester and Blake Lively’s boobs. Black town cars with tinted windows as well as trailers were parked along 6th Ave., so I kept walking in hopes of “accidentally” walking into Crawford. I circled the neighborhood a few times, questioning my motives. If I did find the set what was I going to do when I got there? Did I actually think I was going to catch a glimpse of a cast member even if it was just Jessica Szhor? I found a green sign that said “TO SET” pointing to 44th Street and my curiosity the best of me. When I saw the crowd in front of the Algonquin Hotel, I figured that was the set. Several men and equipment were parked in front of the hotel. A woman peaking into the Oak Room confirmed my suspicions. Feeling too much like a fan girl, I couldn’t bring myself to stand there for more than three minutes. Yes, I would have died if Crawford or Westwick emerged from the hotel but standing there made me feel more like lonely boy than queen bee. Maybe next time. xoxo