Diary 11 / 23-years-old / New York City
It’s a little strange to think back to my first years in New York. Being a young-20s female in this city is a singular experience. Maybe it’s no different than any other city, but the Concrete Jungle had never felt more aptly named. There’s the feeling of providence–being young and vibrant, and nothing but potential (and in my case–pursuing acting and modeling–the dream that life would be Magical and Easy); and the reality of a certain powerlessness–not knowing the game, the players, or the community to which you may ultimately belong. I wouldn’t do it again, that’s for sure; but looking back, the things a young woman encounters in this period, and the ways in which she survives, could write tomes. I wouldn’t be surprised if the male experience is the same.
I mean it, and so does my Trumped cat:
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