LONG LIVE THE CONCRETE JUNGLE

By Kelly Reed (Advertising, Marketing and Communications, ‘21)

New York is astoundingly beautiful throughout the seasons; the beautiful buzz in the springtime that sparks optimism and an afternoon Aperol Spritz; the sweltering hot days in July that offer long hours on rooftops and picnics in Central Park; the crisp air in the beginning of autumn that welcomes hot apple cider, cardigans and trips to the Union Square Greenmarket; turning winter oh-so-quickly, yet seamlessly, overnight — demanding moments surrounded by cozy company, take-out sushi and storytelling — only to swiftly start all over again in spring, but with new memories, new aspirations and new stories to tell. Granted, yes, half the city could knock you out unconscious with its ungodly stench all the while.

But last year was different.

In places where I usually sought out comfort, I was terrified. The groceries stores seeped with panic and stolen glances in July, whereas they usually felt chaotic, unimportant in ritual and therapeutic all at once; Washington Square Park was empty and free of trash in September — a first; and Times Square was as quiet as the Fashion Institute of Technology library on a Friday, during the busiest holiday months, leaving Rockefeller Center’s tree lonely and lacking spirit in December. The city had become a stranger to me in a time where I needed stability most.

Even so, my heart throbbed for New York like an early 2000’s rom-com.

After leaving the city at the beginning of the pandemic for my Nebraska hometown — in what ended up being a two-month stay, I was worried for the city I left behind, and what would become of it while I was gone...

In returning to “The City That Never Sleeps” in June, the very much abandoned city, in fact, had revived a strong survival-sense of mentality — composed of the city’s finest and truest die-hards, as the saying goes, “New York Strong.”

The kill-or-be-killed city showed me more smiles, compassion and a shared sense of community than ever before. I was proud to live on an island amongst the remaining, tough New Yorkers who wanted to stick it through. We would get through this together.

While Manhattan entered a new season of semi-peacefulness after months of what felt like extreme havoc, I tried things I had never done before: biking down 7th Avenue, exploring the West Side Highway, solo ferry trips to Governors Island, handling the rat that, against my will, would not leave my Lower East Side apartment, protesting in the Black Lives Matter Movement, visiting the small businesses in my neighborhood, moving to a new apartment with three roommates I met on the Internet, and most importantly, learning to grapple and work through my anxiety.

The city persevered as I began to learn more about myself through the new lens in which I saw New York.

As I began not one — but two semesters virtually — I adapted a larger sense of appreciation in the small, yet meaningful conversations amongst my new classmates between a black, imageless screen. We talked about our days, how we were coping, and what was giving us the most trouble — between various time zones and continents. I had never craved communication between my fellow classmates more, yet, here they were, proving the power in earnest interaction through quick Blackboard Collaborate breakout rooms and dysfunctional group chats.

My online classes resulted in red-eyed vision from an overdose of screen-time, too much caffeine, a lack of focus and a shared disinterest — but as soon as I stepped outside for my midday walk, the city’s lifeline proved itself again and again. New York never failed me, even when I felt like doing so.

Slowly but surely, the city’s new way of being and reopening offered me a serotonin-kick like never before. I ventured down new streets, supported local restaurants, and even met some amazing people in spite of it all. I saw the city for all it was, and then some. Restaurants began to open their doors for limited capacity, stores their clothing racks, and soon enough, movie theaters for their films to roll after a year-long wait.

New York City may not have its Jay-Z and Alicia Keys-esque “Empire State of Mind” spirit without the 24-hour bars, exotic nightclubs, tourists and Times Square’s constant buzz. But the city has never felt more unified and alive these past few months, in the sense that its inhabitants have never believed in the future of New York more.

While I can’t say I’ll be graduating this year the way I would’ve wanted, I’ll know we all will have made it, together — and my classmates will make the most of the road ahead of them, just like me and the rest of this city.