Dear New York, You’re Amazing

11 Sep Dear New York, You’re Amazing

I haven’t done a Dear New York in awhile. I have some drafted and scheduled to post the next couple of months on my anniversary of moving to this resilient city but today’s date holds a significant anniversary on its own. Not one that’s celebratory at all–but one that does speak to my city’s strength. My girl Hallie at Corals and Cognacs shared her 9/11 memories and I loved it. Here are mine, in the form of a letter. You don’t have to write a one but maybe you’ll share yours?

Hey New York.

There’s this thing about you that makes it impossible to hate you. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but it’s like you enjoy driving me to the edge of sanity, but before the cliff drops off into insanity, you yank me back and give me a big hug. Almost as if to say, just kidding, kid! I just wanted to see how strong you were!

I remember the first time I got a taste of ‘life in the fast lane’ as my dad–annoyingly so–refers to habitation here. I was in 8th grade. I was wearing white cropped jeans, a white sweater halter top (what in the world??)  and a jean jacket from Gap that is still in my closet. I wore my hair in a high ponytail that swung as I bobbed my head trying to see the Twin Towers as my classmate pointed out all the famous buildings that make up your skyline and my blog’s background on the bus ride in. I didn’t know what I was looking at, but I assumed, rightfully so, it was a big deal considering how many 14-year-olds were shouting about it.

In 9th grade, people were shouting about the Twin Towers for a different reason. I was in Health class and another teacher came in saying to turn the news on because a plane crashed into the World Trade Center. By the time I was in my next class, Concert Choir–don’t judge, we were planted in front of the TV just as the second plane hit. It became obvious that it wasn’t an accident. People were starting to panic. Because no one had an answer as to who could do such a thing, we weren’t sure what to expect. Or who, if any, would be next.

My mom came and picked me up. Kids were leaving by the droves (no one knew what to expect so we thought maybe all the capitals would be next) and the secretary was announcing the names in groups over the intercom so many were leaving at a time. I walked to the office, in purple capris, embroidered at the bottom and a lavender short sleeve crew neck. I thought I was so grown-up in this outfit because I was wearing black wedge sandals. But I was scared. When we got home, we parked in front of the TV amazed at how brave all the New Yorkers seemed. They I’m sure where scared and frantic and worried but they were helping each other. So many people were holding each other walking to God knows where. I was so scared for the little kids who lost their parents.

Two years ago, during September 11th, I was with my mom, in New York City. She came with me for some Fashion Week activities. The site that I was covering shows for told me not worry about working on Sunday–the 10th anniversary of the attacks. We watched the memorial service on TV. I noticed that most of the fashion industry also seemed to take a pause to remember. And that right there is the beauty of this city.

In a place where no one ever stops talking, walking, screaming, stinking, cussing, and playing hurry up and wait, they did. With all of the world watching, you, New York, reminded everyone that this isn’t a place for the weak. You’re not to be effed with. And today, I’m proud to live here. In a place so strong, so proud, so resilient.

I hope just a little bit of you, rubs off on me. I think you’re amazing. And I love you.