I’ve always loved big cities.
I went to New York City when I was seven and decided that someday I would call it home. As I’ve gotten older, I continue to fantasize about a busy nightlife, a high-rise apartment, an awesome job, great friends, and killer style.
I spend an exorbitant amount of time taking Buzzfeed quizzes on which Sex and the City character I would be (I’d like to think I’m a Carrie).
This month, I was lucky enough to receive funding to attend a feminist conference in Seattle. During the conference, I was able to meet female business owners, as well as meet with representatives from several female advocacy groups.
The conference itself was incredibly empowering, but to be independent in a big city gave me a smile that lasted for days. That is, until I realized a reality of city-living that had never entered into my fantasies: catcalling.
As I left the hostel on the first day with other conference attendees, we were bombarded by aggressive comments from men on the sidewalk. They continued as we went sightseeing, when we got back to the hostel, and when we were going to-and-from the conference.
There was a man that ran up to us, yelling and flailing his arms like he was about to hit us. When I stepped outside of the hostel to make a phone call, there was a man who wouldn’t stop asking how I was doing, if I was here with my boyfriend, telling me I was ‘sexy,’ and asking what my plans were later. When I didn’t answer, he became visibly angry, calling me mean names, and stomping his feet.
There I was, attending a conference about female empowerment, in a big city I was so excited to explore—and I felt so defeated. I’d been catcalled to some extent before—but I never realized how intense, severe, and downright scary it could be.
I had plans to visit my cousin at UW-Seattle, which was two buses, a mile, and a light rail away from my hostel. I had been thrilled to make the voyage independently, but it was getting dark, and I was growing more and more afraid. I was terrified to be catcalled again, and was imagining every bad thing that could potentially happen to me, à la
Law and Order SVU.
I was one iMessage away from cancelling, but then I remembered a quote from my favorite author, Cheryl Strayed:
“Fear, to a great extent, is born of a story we tell ourselves, and so I chose to tell myself a different story from the one women are told. I decided I was safe. I was strong. I was brave. Nothing could vanquish me.” –Cheryl Strayed
And so, I didn’t cancel. I got on the bus, walked on the sidewalk, and took the light rail like I was Carrie Bradshaw going to meet her friends at a fashion show. I ignored the catcalls, and pushed past my fear. I told myself I was safe, I was strong, I told myself that I owned the city. It was the most empowered I’ve ever felt.
Fast-forward a week and I’m back in my dorm. Donald Trump has just been elected president and Hillary Clinton is giving her concession speech. There are tears in my eyes as she says,
“…And to all the little girls who are watching this, never doubt that you are valuable and powerful, and deserving of every chance and opportunity in the world to pursue and achieve your own dreams.”
I cried because I’m still that little girl with wide-eyes and big dreams. I’m still that seven year-old seeing New York City for the first time, amazed at it’s immensity, and determined to make it my home someday.
I am valuable.
I am powerful.
I am deserving of the chance to pursue my dreams,
From walking through the city without fear, to changing the world.
You are valuable.
You are powerful.
And you deserve that chance, too.