Slow Kid, Fast City

Jesus Cervantes

July 28th, 2018

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I woke up on a Saturday morning in New York City after another quick week at the office (shout out 4th of July for that free Wednesday). The World Cup was at its peak so I engaged in my usual weekend morning struggle of finding a place to watch the game. I rolled up to Jimbo’s Hamburger Place (apparently it was somewhat famous after appearing on an ABC top food list or something?) just in time for the first half of England vs Sweden. As I finished my bagel sandwich, the first half of the game drew to a close with England up 1-0. I left Jimbo’s, deciding to head back to my apartment to work on some science articles for a part-time internship I picked up during Nomad for a children’s education website called kidsknowit.com. Anyways, when I reached a block away from my apartment, I realized something crazy.

As soon as I landed in New York, I was struck by just how different the place was from my hometown. The crowds, towering buildings, and unyielding concrete were a stark contrast to the suburbs and farmland of my hometown of Modesto, California. The sky was blocked by skyscrapers. The trees and parks were replaced by food carts and endless malls. But what really, really got me was the humidity. Day after day, week in and week out, I’d shower and leave for work only to feel like I needed another shower by the time I reached the end of the block. The humidity of the city constantly scourged my dry California soul; but, today was different. It was a nice 70 degrees with a breeze and… no humidity? If I closed my eyes it felt more or less like being back on the West Coast! I couldn’t waste this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity of a humidity-free day in New York typing away at a keyboard in my apartment. As I neared my apartment I noticed the Queensborough bridge and decided to finally cross off one of my NYC to-dos and cross the river over to Roosevelt Island. I grabbed my backpack, filled it with a book and my laptop, and hopped onto the tramway over to Roosevelt Island.

Once I got there, I was struck by a site I had only seen sparingly for the past 3 weeks: grass! Grass filled the whole island, and the gentle breeze from the river brought me away from the bustling city and right back home. Hoping to savor every minute of this sanctuary, I began walking north along the east coast of the island, reveling in the sights and smells of almost-nature. The sparsely populated island let me experience being outside and alone for the first time in the city (something my introverted self was in desperate need of). As I approached the north end of the island, I reached a lighthouse.

There was a wall behind the lighthouse that served to keep the water back at high tide. I plopped myself down on the wall so that I could take in more of the air and water and just bake in the sun for a while. I noticed a couple with a bucket and some fishing rods trying their luck in the river, though I’m doubtful of the river’s ability to harbor any significant amount of life with all the contamination I’m sure gets pumped into it. This couple brought me even further down memory lane as I remembered the countless days I spent with my family on the water catching fish. I remember the days we’d come home with such a good haul we’d have to eat nothing but fish for a whole week, while other days we’d have to pick up take-out on the way back. As I ponder my new lifestyle of briskly walking several blocks to work and riding the crowded subway to rush from my crowded apartment to my crowded office - or maybe crowded restaurants to meet similarly bustling friends - I reflect on my roots and my journey from them.

Education was always the dream of my parents. My 4 (or 5 because #coterm) years at Stanford are my ticket to a good career and a source of good, reliable income for my family so that we can have the lives we’ve always wanted. But that life in my head isn’t much different from what we had. I was never interested in the fancy cars or big houses or name brand clothes. I wanted our life, just with money concerns playing a smaller part.

However, now I find myself moving around from temporary housing at school to temporary little apartments in big cities. When I think of my future after college, it has that same temporary feel that my summers have of never settling in. But, there’s no fall quarter to break the monotony after I graduate, so what’s supposed to get me to leave then? At what point have I made enough money to where I can will myself to leave the new city life and live the life I’ve always wanted outside the city? My career path seems to suggest never, but my heart yearns for the opportunity to return. As I look out on the expanse of water in front of me, with skyscraping apartment buildings behind me, I begin to wonder if this is a place where I can make my life. I shake my head, stretch, and begin to head south along the west coast of the island. Introspection is fun and important and all, but I still have stuff to do and places to see.

oooThe western tour wasn’t as fun as the eastern part. The island blocked the wind, so the heat started to get to me. Unsurprisingly, my Toms weren’t doing a good job providing support as my walking mileage creeped up. Luckily, hills filled with yellow grass (peak California) dotted the southern part of the island. I like to think that they were empty because the city folk are too perturbed by grass. As I reached the very end of the island, I stumbled across Roosevelt Park, which had a bunch of cool white stones and a weirdly large statue of Roosevelt’s head that is oddly reminiscent of the really bad one of Ronaldo.

After I got my fill of views at the park, I headed back towards the middle of the island where I found a Starbucks with outdoor seating close to the water. I cracked open my laptop and took advantage of the free Wi-Fi to start working on my articles (which I’m still hopelessly behind on). About an hour into writing, a little girl started screaming about some bratty little kid stuff and an old European woman eventually started scolding her for being rude, all as I made amused/awkward eye contact with her dad. Watching the scene unfold, I couldn’t help but relish in the different stages of life present in this little scene. After I finished my article, I went to a nearby bar to watch the second half of Croatia beating Russia. The bar was geographically divided into Croatians and Russians with myself coincidentally in the middle, both as a fan and a patron. I left quickly after the game as fans started to get rowdy and I didn’t want to get caught up in any nonsense. Staring out of the tramway window onto the New York City skyline, I couldn’t help but relish the slowness of the day. It seems like every day I’ve been in New York has been one big rush. The summer has been a sprint of being places or going to places, with no chance to or thoughts of slowing down. It was the first day in a long time where I got the chance to slow down and meander about by myself. Taking in the world, figuring out myself and my thoughts. Naturally, I jumped right back into the rush with a company picnic on Randall’s Island the next day. But the slowness of that day made me realize how fast the city life really is and how slow I really am. The difference is interesting, but whether it’s good or bad might still take a while for me to figure out.

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