It’s 6:10 am, I am exhausted and anxious and on the train to New York City. I lived here in the summer of 2019 for a program at Barnard College. When the pandemic hit, I wasn’t traveling like most other people and have not had the opportunity to go back to New York since. This weekend though, I had the opportunity. Now, the sun has not yet risen and I’m on the train.
I hold a strong association between places and emotion. I found out about my two-week extension to Spring break while I was in Colorado. The first time I went back to Colorado seven months later, I had terrible panic attacks. I felt on edge the entire time, not because I thought there would be another pandemic but because the emotion associated with it was overwhelming. The pandemic changed everyone’s lives, but for me, it brought back the emotions of hearing my first year of school would be online, the loneliness I felt during quarantine, and the loss of my senior year.
Sitting on the train, I’m scared as hell of what New York will make me feel. The joy, depression, and anxiety. It is also starting to hit me how fast time is moving. I was last in New York when I had just turned seventeen, I am almost 20 now. I’m a different person, which is best, but I feel like I am mourning the adolescent version of myself.
Arriving at Penn station was off-putting, I didn’t recognize the interior as it was being remodeled. I exited towards 33rd street and almost instantly it felt like my city instinct came back to life. I started walking faster than I have in years and found myself downtown searching for an old favorite- Stumptown Coffee. This is where I meet my friend Olivia who I had not seen since we were at Barnard. I see her around the corner and I’m shocked. We Facetime a lot but being in her physical presence was shocking in the best way. She looks much more mature now, though her babyface still shows through her dimples. Walking around New York together, we mourn the childhood selves that we were when we were last together. We were seventeen, dreaming and wishing, but now we’re nineteen, pursuing those dreams and wishes.
Central Park is vibrant with color, it’s not very warm but a warm peppermint mocha makes it feel cozy outside. Olivia and I walk the park and much of the surrounding area- by 2 pm my watch had counted 20,000 steps. Shortly after, we begin to make our way to Barnard. Riding on the 1 train heading north to the upper west side I am too exhausted to process the journey up. We get to campus and I can instantly feel an overwhelming amount of emotion. I feel happy and sentimental but most predominantly, I feel strong. I sit down with a tear in my eye and realize how far I’ve made it. After everything I have experienced along with the rest of the world in a mere 16 months, I am still standing strong. I made it through and I will continue to make it further.
As I was leaving, I smiled looking at the intersection of Broadway and 116th. It is just a crosswalk, but I can still see myself moving in and being so unsure about nearly everything. Standing there in the dark and windy conditions, I see my 17-year-old self who struggled to get out of bed every day. The girl who smiled because she didn’t know what else to do. The girl who just wanted to be loved. I smile at her because little does she know how much love she would soon feel, how many times she’d dance in the rain, cry to her mom, or sing in the car at a stoplight and not realize people were watching. Little did my 17-year-old self know how much life would be ahead of her. Little do I know what lies ahead of me.
I often hear about the concept of healing your inner child and I had never understood it, standing here, I understood it. I am not healed, but I am healing. As I sit here on the train to DC, I am so damn proud, not only of who I have become but who I am becoming.