DEALING WITH THE HASSLE POST-TASSEL

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I’m entering my final semester before graduation. Commencement is the pinnacle of the journey, and I’m excited to celebrate it with the community I’ve built. It’s great to see my friends, co-workers, classmates doing amazing things. I’m proud of the people I’ve met and seeing them make the next step in their future.

But it took me a while to get here. I had a really bumpy start to college. I didn’t feel connected to my school or the city I was in which was hard coming from a place where community was really relevant and important.

I spent most of my time thinking about how much I wanted to be home with my family. I didn’t know what to do with myself, so I fixated on being the best I could be. For me, that was getting good grades and building a resume. Everything else was secondary, and I had a hard time finding the right school-work-life balance.

It too a bit of maturing, but I realized I wasn’t happy. I was sacrificing friendship, even though I didn’t have to. I just need to build the right things into my schedule to feel fulfilled, and it took a lot of self-reflection to come to this realization.

It took a few people who welcomed me into their lives, which taught me to welcome myself and others. I saw my life coming together, filled with friends, bosses, professors who are invested in my well being once I brought my whole self into that space. Finding the right support system really helped me feel happy and fulfilled, and meaningful connections made each of my successes feel even sweeter.

The biggest anxiety I have about post-graduation is starting all over again and finding that community.

At the same time, I have confidence in myself, that I’m stronger now than I was the first time I was trying to do this. I have my support system that will be there for me no matter what happens, and for me, this feeling of connectedness makes me feel more secure.

FINDING HER COMMON CENTS

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The summer after graduation, I moved to New York with $5,000 and no job.

I knew I had to be frugal, and I was well prepared. Ever since I was little, I was financially conscious. My parents always made me save half of my money and when I applied to colleges, I made sure to also prioritize scholarships.

So I saved up all summer and stayed at my friend’s place in Jersey City for the first week to get my footing and meet new people.

I got in touch with someone through Airbnb who had an open room in Union City for the month, and it was perfect until she had a new renter and asked me to leave. I said, “I was here first,” and she offered me another room that didn’t have a bed for half the price, which wasn’t ideal, but I got an air mattress to save as much money as I could. I wanted to live within my means.

I finally moved into a real apartment on a long-term lease, and my biggest advice for that is to negotiate. It’s hard, since New York apartments are so in-demand, but you have to. I was able to negotiate $300 off my monthly rent by being able to show that I was a good tenant and I was going to take care of the place.

In terms of my paycheck, I contribute to both my 401(k) and Roth IRA, and once I see how much I contribute to both, I know how to manage the rest of my money.

To keep track of my spendings, I used the app Mint. It helped me easily keep track of all my accounts, including my checking, savings, credit card expenses, 401(k), Roth IRA and my transactions. The most helpful part was that I could say I’m only spending $20 this month on coffee shops, and it keeps me accountable.

But, I’m living in New York City! I wanted to have fun and experience everything the city offers.

Instead of starting my night late, I’d suggest getting drinks during happy hour and end up spending half of what I would have spent — plus, I can get home earlier, which is always nice.I took advantage of Groupon deals or corporate discounts that gave me deals on shows, baseball games and helicopter rides.

I once even found $7 tickets to see orchestra performances at Lincoln Center. I ended up making such a fun night out of it, on a budget.

LISTENING BETWEEN THE NOTES

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I love New York City and I’m proud have been born and raised here.

The city has so much energy and opportunities, and I’ve always been drawn to its diversity and openness. Especially in the arts scene, I could go see any high-quality performance and concert — ones that would be rare to see elsewhere.

At the same time, it’s an extremely draining city. I’m surrounded by people all the time. Though I’m now more extroverted, it’s still stressful being around so many people and it adds to my own stress.

I’ve always looked toward music to ground me. It’s therapeutic. It’s consoling, and soothing.

In middle school, I spent every lunch period in the orchestra room, playing violin. I hung out with my music teacher, I’d learn new pieces and practice my craft. In high school, my habits followed me, and I focused even more of my time on music when I was stressed out.

During times of trouble with my friends and family, I knew I could go to the orchestra room and take out my violin. The orchestra room became my sanctuary.

When I moved away, I found less time for my music. I worked in Turkey after graduating from college, and played less even though I tried looking for new mediums in music to explore.

I eventually got a new job and moved back to New York City but found myself unhappy in my work, but one thing changed. I rediscovered time to play my violin. I worked more than 40 hours a week doing a job that didn’t satisfy me, but knowing I could come home to music helped me get through the day.

I started traveling more for work, and quickly found it tiring having to stay at different hotels. But I started taking my violin with me to play in my free time wherever I could get it. It helped free my stress and made me forget the things I didn’t like about my job.

Even though I’ve moved a lot, music is the constant thing that keeps me going.

NEW ROOTS IN TOWN

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I came to New York untied to any place or thing.

When I studied abroad in Milan, couch-surfing was my way of befriending locals and connecting with the places around me — it was all about honest conversations and sharing experiences.

This was the mindset I brought with me to New York. This city is such a big space and we come across so many places we didn’t know exist. You could walk by something, go back, and it might not be there anymore.

But, I found the Lower East Side as one of those places where you can really build a community and make yourself a local. It started when I joined a community garden I didn’t know existed. It was formerly a drug den in the 80’s but transformed into a space for people to enjoy. I had some experience with farming in West Virginia and I was looking for a way to be connected to the earth. Gardening also became a great way for for me to connect with a community and find inspiration. I worked there for 2-3 hours a week, built relationships with the local vendors, and learned more of the people living there. It was hard to dedicate weekends to this, especially after a tough work week. But it was also therapeutic and refreshing.

What I love about the garden is that if you have an idea, you just need to do it. I wanted to start a composting initiative since they didn’t have one. Now, I’m the Composting Queen. You had to earn a spot in the garden. Eventually, I did get a key and a plot. I want to make it my own soon — sure it’s overwhelming now but I’m really excited.

The Lower East Side has become more familiar — one of the local gardener’s daughter is friends with the patisserie owner on DeLancey Street, I could walk over to Economy Candy and call someone by first name, or chat with people at the 4th Street Food Co-Op.

I had a mission to not feel like I didn’t belong. Working at the garden helped me accomplish that.

MAKING THE WORLD HER STAGE

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I moved here by myself when I just turned 17 — it was terrifying. I’ve never lived anywhere alone, had not been away from my parents for more than a week. I came from this upper middle class, girl’s only private school, where everyone had the same liberal viewpoint. I got out to the real world, and it’s different. Also now, I’m like, wow men exist! It was a slap in the face in the beginning, because I was suddenly surrounded by people who were not like me, and all I knew growing up were people who were very much like me.

After I did a two-year program at the American Musical and Dramatic Academy in the Upper West Side, I started brainstorming ways to stay when my student visa ended. I started feeling helpless and was like, if no one is going to give me a job, I’m going to make it for myself.

I gathered a group of friends in my dorm and asked if they wanted to start a theater company together we later named it Our Time Players. You never know what’s going to happen but if you don’t take a risk and jump off the deep end, you won’t get anywhere.

We bonded really quickly. We’re all in different stages of our lives but we’re all interested in the same thing. That’s what happens in theater — we spend so much time together rehearsing and practicing that we get over the awkwardness quickly.

As we got to know each other, we realized there are a lot of coming-of-age stories about young adults — ”Dear Evan Hansen,” “Clueless,” “Mean Girls.” But most of the time, they’re created by adults and usually older men.

Inspired by this, we came up with our first production, “Party Worth Crashing,” written by the people it’s about. The people behind it, the band, the writers, production team, cast – we’re not people who have been there, but we’re actively in the trenches. The show is a raw, heartfelt communication of who we are and us navigating life.

This production, which will also be my off-Broadway debut, ended up helping me realize that life is not a competition and it’s not a race. I’ve always felt behind, especially since I was surrounded by peers who were a few years older than me. I have this constant fear that I’m not doing enough fast enough because I need to be caught up with my friends.

Coming into this and meeting this wonderful team of people who are all at varying stages of their 20s and their lives and seeing all we had in common reassured me that I’m doing okay and we really are all in this together. I’m just starting out and I’m still figuring it out.

I still call my parents all the time, and yesterday, I was crying. But at the end of the day, I took a deep breath and said, “Okay, I’m going to do this.”

DON’T LET THE BED BUGS BITE

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I went to my internship and I noticed I had some bites on my arm. What I know now is that three lines of bites — just like the ones I saw on my arm, were the tell-tale sign of bed bugs. But I assumed they were mosquito bites and didn’t think much of it.

When I came home from screening my first film, I noticed bed bugs in my apartment. I went to my landlord and he suggested bringing in a dog to sniff out bed bugs. The dog didn’t find anything so I thought nothing of it once again.

It all felt real when my roommate and I captured our first bed bug that night. Me and my roommate had seen them around the apartment and we lured one into a glass to prove we weren’t going crazy. We officially had bed bugs.

Calling the exterminator in the middle of my 8-hour class was just the beginning of the process. We had to throw away hardcover books, bed frames, mattresses and move all other furniture six inches away from the wall.

The process also took an emotional toll. Every time I’d walked into my room, I had gloves on, plastics around my feet, clothes that I knew I’d throw away. I had to throw most of my stuff away and had dropped off all my clothes at the laundromat, where they charged me $800 to have my things cleaned. I was also ashamed — did having bed bugs mean I was dirty or messy?

Once I was done cleaning, I went into the bathroom and cried.

The exterminator arrived at 5:30 a.m. the following Monday and it was quick. He came in a full suit and I left for class.

Even though the bed bugs were gone, I can never go back to normal. I didn’t want to be home anymore — I didn’t feel safe there. Even when I moved, I didn’t have much around the house and made sure furniture never touched the walls. I kept plastic bags over my bed frame and put baby powder inside every month or so. I only use light colored sheets and wash my things far too often.

It’s hard to find somewhere you truly call home in NYC, and having bed bugs made it impossible to ever get comfortable.

I still spend my time reading up on blogs dedicated to bed bug encounters, and found an online community on Reddit comprised of people who have battled infestations. Even in my darkest time, I find comfort in knowing that if anything happens again, I’ll be ready to fight it.

NOT A GIRL, NOT YET A WOMAN

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The night before my 24th birthday, I had a breakdown.

24 isn’t old. But it felt eons away from being 21 and a new grad. When I was 21, adulthood seemed new and shiny – something I was excited for. When I was 21, I had just signed on to my first job with a 401k and perks, was dating someone who made me light up, and could finally pay for my own apartment with my best friend.

I didn’t know then that my job would be completely wrong for me. That I would spend 7 restless months going on dozens of interviews — rain, or shine, or flu — trying to pivot my career. I didn’t know that my relationship would drain my energy and slowly fall apart, or that a month later, I would fall head over heels for someone who would crush me. I didn’t know that, in dealing with everything else, I would neglect my mental health and fall into the worst bout of seasonal depression I’ve encountered in my life.

In adulthood, there is no new semester to hit a reset button. There is no summer vacation to unplug and come back transformed. In adulthood, people expect you to have it all together no matter what kind of shit is going on in your life.

I rebuilt. Slowly, but surely. I got a new job that I’m happy to say I really like. I took a break from dating. I started seeing a therapist. There were days when my life felt like a messy clump held together by nothing more than sheer willpower, but I trudged on.

But here I was, on the eve of turning 24, and the pride I had from rebuilding everything was giving away to fatigue, to a horrible fear that this was what life would be from here on out. An endless flood of problems, with me at the center, tired, barely holding it together, and always one wrong step away from train wreck.

I spent the weekend celebrating with friends, despite wanting to just curl up into a ball. Ironically, I did all the same things that birthday that I had done when turning 21. I spent it with the same friends, went out to the same club, and even reconnected with someone from that time. While going through the same motions, I realized that everything was different now. I became closer to my friends as we’d relied on each other during the tough post-grad years. I felt more confident in my own skin at the club, no longer self-conscious about my outfit or my hair. I was able to voice my worries to my old flame with a kind of self assuredness I didn’t have years ago, and to my surprise, instead of pulling away, he leaned in.

I was still living in the same city, surrounded by the same people, hitting the same old spots. But now, I was different. I felt different — empowered. I felt a new kind of confidence in my veins. The kind I didn’t realize was missing all those years ago at 21. The kind that comes with age.

*Name changed to protect her privacy.

SEEKING A JOB, FINDING HER CLAN

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Teaching yoga was an accident in the making.

After I graduated from college in NYC, my anxiety really got the best of me. I was juggling a long-distance relationship, applying to traditional 9 to 5 jobs, trying to pursue fitness and take up other hobbies. I was having a hard time getting out of bed and committing to responsibilities. Plus, I had just been diagnosed with clinical depression. Everyone was telling me what to do, and I felt I wasn’t able to get myself together and do what others expected of me.

I needed a job, and my friend recommended I started teaching fitness at a yoga studio in Brooklyn. I was a dancer growing up, and I used to help teach classes at community centers. In fact, my first job was working at the reception desk of a hot yoga/pilates studio in Boston.

It ended up becoming the missing piece of community I never knew I needed.
The opportunity to become a yoga teacher just presented itself, and I decided to dive right into training. It was the most intensive two months I’ve ever had – I was training every Monday and Wednesday night, and every other weekend. I was also required to take four classes a week. I was really only able to swing this since I was working at the studio and got a discount on all of the classes.

In the course of the training, I was really able to reflect on my life and relationships. I reconnected to my body — both physical and emotionally. It brought me back to my past as a dancer. I also came to recognize the practice as my sanctuary in the city. It was really hard to make friends in the city but I forged meaningful relationships with my fellow teachers and students, who helped qualm my fears of not being able to support myself and realize my dreams without a traditional 9 to 5.

I was surrounded by people who were making a non-traditional lifestyle work. Some of my coworkers were living their best life working at three different studios, and others were starting their own sound-bath meditation business. It really helped having peers going through similar experiences. Everyone in their 20s hits their point of having no idea what they’re doing.

Teaching yoga gave me a reason to get out of bed every morning, and reminded myself I had purpose.

*Name changed to protect her privacy.

FALLING IN LOVE… WITH THE STRAND

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I was in a relationship during my junior year of college and it wasn’t very healthy. I was always his subordinate. He controlled every aspect of the relationship. I gave him so much of myself — physically and emotionally. I knew that he was only with me because his girlfriend was abroad. When he broke up with me, I had no idea what to do with myself.

I hit a tipping point when I literally went into a staircase and just screamed because I felt there was no where else in the city I could do that.

Around this time, I started going to The Strand alone. The bookstore became my refuge. I could read how others have experienced the same emotions. The shop can be swarming with people, yet I can still find a quiet corner to absorb my surroundings. I was alone, but not.

I’d go during high traffic times, around 8 p.m., when people were just getting off work and looking for a book to read. I’d find a cramped corner and all of a sudden, it would be silent and I’d forget where I was.

I was in the poetry section one night and something falls out of one of the old books I was reading. It was a thank you card, with a poem written inside, dated from June 1983. It was signed, “with lots of love, Jim and Mary.”

The card might have been addressed to someone else, but it felt like it was given just to me. I took the note home with me, and I still have it.

That day, I remembered that I’m not alone.