I am a city person — I pay attention in taxis to make sure I’m not being ripped off, I roll my eyes at people who walk too slowly, and I sometimes find myself saying “youse” instead of “you.”
I developed these habits growing up outside Manhattan — the city to end all cities. It’s relentlessly fast-paced, its size is almost overwhelming, and its buildings are under constant construction. New York isn’t a city for everybody, but it’s the city for me.
While I actually lived in Connecticut, my town was just a brief train ride away from Manhattan. This distance was perfect, allowing me to experience both a small New England town and a thriving metropolis. Each visit to New York left me in awe of how impossibly large and lively the city is. I decided at an early age that no matter what I did with my life, I would end up in a place like Manhattan.
Coming from this background, the transition to Charlottesville has been equal parts welcome and frustrating. The University has a wonderful community, but it’s an isolated one. I used to jump on a train in a small town and end up in New York City one hour later. Living in Charlottesville has been an interesting change of pace, but oftentimes I find myself missing the speed and scale of city-life.
Many of my new Virginian friends have a hard time seeing eye-to-eye with me when it comes to Manhattan. They say the city is dirty, grungy and intimidating, the traffic is a nightmare, and the people are jerks.
This is not to say they are wrong. I wash my hands every time I so much as touch a doorknob in Manhattan. I crossed the street at the wrong time once and caused a series of cars to come screeching to a halt. The interrupted drivers simultaneously raised their middle fingers, as if they were doing the three-fingered Hunger Games salute.
That said, there’s still something unmistakable and beautiful about New York City. I have never been more aware of this than during a trip to my sister’s apartment last year.
At first, I grew cautious as we approached Alphabet City — my sister’s neighborhood. The environment changes in ways almost too slight to notice — the buildings become blockier and the potholes sink deeper. Mounds of trash slumped on the street corners and crumpled plastic bags breezed across the street like tumbleweed. I wondered if some of my friends were right to avoid urban landscapes.
When I walked up the winding staircase to my sister’s pad, all of my worries faded. The apartment was unmistakably hers, from the family photos to the scattered paint brushes to the lone plant drooping out of the window. My sister had come to the big, bustling city and made it her own.
When I left, Alphabet City seemed brighter. The true measure of a place isn’t its architecture or its potholes — it’s the people who live there. For me, my sister made Avenue B one of the coolest places in America.
I understand that cities come with drawbacks, but I’ll never stop loving the excitement. There are so many things to see that it’s impossible to experience them all — but this is one challenge I’ll gladly accept.
John’s column runs biweekly Fridays. He can be reached at j.benenati@cavalierdaily.com.
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