Swingin'

The purpose of life is to live it, to taste experience to the utmost, to reach out eagerly and without fear for newer and richer experience.

-Eleanor Roosevelt, 32nd-ish first lady and superhero.

Last weekend, a friend of mine trekked into the city from upstate. The weather was perfect, the city was glimmering, and we were determined to have fun for the short time she was on the island. Saturday morning, we took a walk down to Central Park, absorbing the sunshine and people-watching and dog-walking in the best possible way. As we entered deeper into the park, we continued passing playgrounds and swing sets, looking longingly at the fun that called out to be had.

After shuffling across thousands of fall leaves down the uneven path, we decided to finally stop for a swing. Carelessly throwing our bags next to the swing-set, we each hopped on a swing and started pumping our legs strong and fast, propelling us further and further into the air. We giggle and smiled as we flew through the crisp fall air, feeling the breeze in our hair, the brisk wind on our face, and the seemingly endless high we felt from our flying adventures.

As I glanced down the swing-set to the other pairs of swings, I realized a common phenomenon: only adults were swinging on this beautiful October afternoon! I felt shocked. Who are these people? Do they just come to the park to swing?

But then I realized: who told us we couldn’t swing? When do we officially get too old to stop playing? And why is it socially acceptable to make bowling or pool or Guitar Hero a communal event yet just playing outdoors seems juvenile?

And swing we did. It seems that as adults we lose a certain sense of play, a sense of play we desire and want, yet have limited manners in which to release this urge. Because in each of us exists an inner child, a kid who wants to finger-paint or play freeze dance or just hang from the monkey bars.

I didn’t feel like I was breaking an social norms, making any statements, or encouraging any radical life changes, yet my enthusiasm lasted for the rest of the day. I guess that sometimes we have to stop playing grown-up, remember who we used to be and who we are, and just swing it out!

The Key Quandary

For eighteen years of my life, I somehow got by without ever having to carry a house key. I’d go out and come back expecting my parents to open the door upon my arrival or just punch in the electronic code when I was home alone. It never occurred to me that a small piece of metal might actually be necessary to open a door.

Then I became independent. I learned I had to take care of my possessions, lock my door open leaving, or risk suffering the consequences of Ivy League Thieves (yes, they exist, we had an orientation session about it…)

I suddenly realized the hassle of carrying a key. Where do you put it when you wear leggings? How do you keep it safe at the gym? What about when you run out for groceries? To synagogue? To a party?

It took a few weeks, a lot of creativity, but I think I’ve come up with a few good strategies:

The Hair-tie Around the Wrist:

Classy. Elegant. Almost as heavy as a Tiffany’s charm bracelet. Looping a thin black ponytail holder around the brass ring makes the perfect look for fall. Always at your hand, save a few seconds searching through your backpack/purse every time you come home. Think Edward Scissorhands. If the dangling key starts becoming aggravating, just wrap it a few times around the elastic for a new bracelet fashion!





The Up-do:

A little glitz never hurt a ponytail, did it? Better than your typical prom styling, the key in ponytail proves a secure, trendy method for keeping your key safe! (Also works around bra straps, shoelaces, etc.)



The Necklace:

For those of us who can’t quite fit our hair into a ponytail, the necklace proves as another chic option for the college lady. Whether going out or just staying in for a movie night, threading the key through any chain (perhaps even the chain from your orientation nametag). The pendant matches any outfit and always keeps your key close by.



The Shoe:

Advanced. Only for close-toed shoe wearers AND sock wearers. If you don’t mind a key sitting on the bottom of your footwear, the key-in-shoe always proves as the safest option. This strategy also works when you need ID or cash.



Keep holding onto those keys!

I ♥ NY: Ice cream!

Just another reason to ♥ NY

Today, I stumbled upon my favorite deal so far: Ben and Jerry's on 104th and Broadway. 99¢ for a delicious soft-serve cone? Yes, please!

Until 5:00 PM, you can treat your tastebuds to vanilla, chocolate, or swirl (obviously the best choice) for less than a ride on the MTA!

So New York!

Today as I was walking down Broadway, (can I just mention how much I love saying that?), a friend called out to me, “You look very New York!” We said “Hi” in crossing and both went on our respective ways. However, the comment brought a smile to my face and a new bounce in my step. (Well, as good a bounce you can have with twenty pounds of textbooks in your backpack.)

As I continued on my way, I started wonder, what does it mean to “look very New York”? All the clothes I was wearing I had bought in Chicago (except for the pair of jeans I bought on clearance at an upscale 5th Avenue department store two years ago); does Chicago style mimic that of New York or have I been dressing like a New Yorker for years? Is “New York” really a fashion statement or merely a state of mind?

In my two months living in Manhattan I’ve realized that I’ve gained a stronger self-confidence, an assurance that I am my most perfect version of myself, that I need not try to be someone I am not or change due to other people’s expectations. These are things I heard from teachers all my life, yet the words suddenly came true as I experienced daily life on this crowded little island.

The thing is, there’s always going to be someone weirder/smarter/crazier/prettier/happier/stronger than you in New York. It’s inevitable. In a city of so many people, many of whom moved to New York for new beginnings, to find fame or love or money or just happiness, to experience of mix of cultures and a never-ending lack of privacy, it remains completely foreseeable that these unique characters will have something on you. They’re destined to win the eccentricity race.

However, that’s what I absolutely love about this city: there’s no competition. No battle to win others over and no test to prove your identity: you are who you are and that’s fantastic.

For those of you who have never been to New York, I cannot stress enough how much we want you here! There’s so much to see, do, and learn that even the shortest trip is sure to be inspiring. Whether you’re just wandering in Central Park or pushing through crowds in Times Square, you are certain to witness new and exciting people and events, you can’t help but experience the “New York State of Mind!”

Dewey + Issa = BFFL

I have an addiction. A library addiction. A passionate love for the Dewey Decimal system. A fervor for words and sentences and chapters titles and page numbers.

This past week, I obtained a new, shiny addition to my wallet: a New York Public Library Card. I smiled somewhat uncontrollably as the librarian passed me the red and blue plastic, giving me the ultimate key to my new city. “Thank you!” I exclaimed, a little too overzealously…I own this city.

I can’t remember a time I didn’t love libraries. I used to finish my elementary school work as quickly as possibly so I could rush and ask the librarian for another book selection; I would dash home from camp in the summers so I could run over to the public library for the summer reading program; I spent many a school night in secret corners of my favorite library, sneaking pretzels freshly dipped in chocolate frosting into my mouth when the librarians weren’t looking.

The thing about libraries, more than the smell of old books (delicious) or the endless opportunities to meet new and interesting people (excellent), but there’s a sense of community you can’t really find any other place on earth. You wait in line to check out and suddenly strike up a conversation with an eight year old checking out his first chapter book or an eighty year old furthering her knowledge of South American fruits. You take home a Charles Dickens novel and find a reminder to buy spinach for dinner on page 97. You check out a Frank Sinatra CD and receive recommendations for numerous other records, none of which you will ever remember to listen to.

There’s something special about reading the words of a book knowing they’ve been enjoyed before, understanding that someone else also shared in this story, someone else is now roaming this earth with the same wisdom you’re acquiring from the book, the same joy the novel gave you, the same sorrows you felt at the end of the memoir. I feel comfort in knowing that the books I read are shared stories, stories from which a community continues to learn and gain inspiration.

I love the library for its infinite possibilities, for its ability to educate me on any topic at any time. I love that I could plop myself down on its cushy floors and page through books of music, searching for the perfect sixteen bars to sing at an upcoming audition. I love that I could educate myself on personal issues, making the reference and non-fiction sections my closest friends, advisors, and confidants. I love that I can just go read/write/study with so many others who are there to accomplish exactly the same task: learn.

On my first day of college, I explored my new school library with enormous enthusiasm as I observed the endless new study spots and pages to be read. I’ve found a new home in the cushioned chairs and wooden desks of my favorite study alcoves and cannot believe how incredibly gorgeous the building is.

As my favorite Arthur episode once said, “Having fun isn’t hard, when you’ve got a library card!” And now with the pairing of my student ID and my new glossy library card, the whole world is open to me, and I’m completely unstoppable!