No, I didn’t come here wielding a backpack, a subway map and a smile. I came a little aged (27) with some career sense (a job) and an established savings account. The New York City-or-bust dream still realized, just premeditated. Perhaps I missed the romanticism of struggle, alas, I don’t regret the trip and I think it’s kinda YAY I’m still truckin’. Somehow NYC is like the collegiate Greek system. You prove yourself worthy and you get to stay. And play flip cup.
Regardless of how we got here or how we’re faring, we all afford New York. Not only do we pay with money, we pay with space, with energy, with amenities, with time and, well, with heart. And I like to think it’s worth it. Or none of us would bother to stay and hang our sign.