10 years of New York City

Monday marked 10 years since I moved to NYC. 10 years of this city

Of afternoons spent on blankets in Central Park

Of being surrounded by other languages

Of fire hydrant sprinklers in the summer

Of people having their weirdest moments out loud to an audience of a million people who don’t turn their heads.

Of being annoyed by large groups who talk too loud on the subway

Of being one of those people

Of people crying in public

Of being one of those people too

Of acceptance through anonymity and sometimes through love.

Of things I never would have tried

Of being able to get any kind of food at any time of day

Of getting stuck behind tourists who are three people wide on the sidewalk

Of “it’s a grid”

Of walking up escalators

Of catcalling

Of getting too used to seeing people struggling on the street.

Of trial by fire fashion week

Of “We’re holding the show until Oprah gets here.”

Of dirt or tan line?

Of fake moustached solidarity in a male dominated industry

Of seeing the city from the top of world trade after the planes took it down

Of being paid to hang in some of the coolest venues in the world

Of Seth, and Jimmy, and SNL shoots on the street

Of scissor lift driving pride

Of trust

Of collaboration

Of doing what I love and making a living I never thought I'd make.

Of missing my family

Of “ yes of course you can stay with me but it's just an air mattress”

Of making family

Of Fourths of July spent on rooftops

Of dressing up for Halloween being acceptable for adults

Of kids trick or treating between bodegas

Of fireworks all of July

Of avoiding SantaCon

Of Christmas trees saluting from sidewalks in December, stuffed in small apartments, and then lining the sidewalk, exhausted, come January.

Of traffic underscoring dinner on the sidewalk

Of showtime

Of doubleball baseball days

Of getting ready to go out at 11pm

Of chanting “New York is blue” to soccer players in a baseball stadium

Of hearing the music and conversations of people I’ve never met through the walls of my own home

Of whiskey on the fire escape after escaping a crowded party through the window

Of kissing strangers.

Of island-long conversations with yellow cab drivers

Of solo dinners

Of writing in bars

Of “What’s your favorite thing?”

Of being alone surrounded by a million people

Of being home among strangers

Of learning who I am.

Of always getting on the wrong ramp in New Jersey

Of cocktails under hair dryers and dancing under disco balls sandwiched between friends and strangers

Of knowing where the secret bathroom is

Of traffic underscoring dinner on the sidewalk

Of showtime

Of transporting things that are too big on the subway

Of getting ready to go out at 11pm

Of chanting “New York is blue” to soccer players in a baseball stadium

Of hearing the music and conversations of people I’ve never met through the walls of my own home

Of a golden globe setting perfectly between two buildings

Of a skyline that calls my name

Of burrata hunting and brunch brunch brunch

Of comedy shows and 2 drink minimums

Of falling in love with a new band and realizing they're local (okay, in Brooklyn)

Of the Empire State building lit up in team colors

Of the short bus rides to Jersey

Of dating boys who “didn't know Manhattan went above 90th St” and fixing their “impossible” doorknobs with a couple twists of a screwdriver

Of moving out of a room filled with another person's things

Of interview after interview for mediocre rooms in 4 bedroom apartments.

Of layers and layers of paint

Of a giant living room for murder mystery parties, movie nights, and fighting about decorative honey jars and who hasn't done the dishes.

Of 6 friends promised pizza showing up to move a $50 couch that turned out to be light enough for 2.

Of moving 7 blocks down the street riding a couch precariously balanced on a dolly

Of trying not to own too much

Of finally spending real money on a mattress

Of free on the street finds

Of bed bug fear

Of bathroom ceilings that fall in

Of packing my room into giant trash bags with a broken wrist.

Of moving, again

And staying.

And owning too much.

Of an apartment all to myself

Of not giving it up when I got a job across the country.

Of meeting my best friends

Of stumbling out of bars at 4am

Of birthdays in parks and bars filled with arcade games

Of finding bowling that doesn’t have a dress code

Of being able to see great or terrible art anytime

Of never having to say “sorry I can’t, I’m driving.”

Of ending up in the wrong borough on a train.

Of expresses gone local even though some people DO work on the weekends, ya know?

Of the deli guy who knows my order and my work schedule

Of double parked cars

Of honking

Of changing my outfit in a cab

Of sunset through the GWB skimming across the Hudson.

Of people’s big dreams

Of mine

Of layers and layers of paint
And buildings that always point me straight up to the sky

Of a new appreciation for fresh air, giant grocery stores, and stars

Of the Hudson blurring past on the way to a hike “upstate”

Of fall leaves

Of roadtrips

Of leashed dogs and tight faced owners

Of the glory/envy of a backyard or unit washer/dryer.

Of hand washing dishes

Of the fucking mta

Of the gasp I feel when my favorite tree all of a sudden turns bright pink in the spring.

Of my dog curled in my lap asleep at the bar.

Of that smell in the summer.

Of air conditioner or bird shit?

Of subway cars all to myself

Of falling in love

Of pulling chicken bones out of my dogs teeth

Of spending too much on Uber

Of trying to make art and a living

Of never running out of new places to try but always going to the same places

Of an hour on the train to see friends who “also live in NYC”

Of wanting to leave and start a commune

Of not being able to imagine myself anywhere else.

Happy 10 Years, my dear.

New Yorkers, what are your favorite or least favorite parts of the city? What did I miss?

All photos are my own, check out more on my instagram if you’d like @instastephpf