welcome to new york, just take the elevator next time.

it was a warm tuesday in august. i woke up with the same kind of excitement i used to get the night before going to summer camp, just a little more subdued— i’m older now. i’d lived out of suitcases before, but i’d never bought a one way ticket. it was thrilling, like writing an epic run-on sentence without a plan. there’s a photo of me walking to security stuck somewhere on an old roll of kodak 400. 

i knew the drill: grab a coffee, wait and wait and board. i got a row to myself and settled in. emboldened by my stroke of luck, i ordered a vodka soda when the snack cart came by. it early, but it was a big day. “how old are you?”, the flight attendant asked. quizzically i answered, “24? do you need my ID?” he just shook his head, smiled, and brought my drink free of charge. i really wanted new york to love me, and that was enough to make me believe she did.

the plane landed on time, and after the stop-and-go deplane i headed for baggage claim. i quickly grabbed my nondescript black suitcases and backpack, all filled to the brim, and set off for a rideshare. the escalator up was thin, my bags were not— they held three months of my life in them, after all. i did my best to push them on before me, and i held onto the handles as i journeyed up a floor. only i had not been as successful as i hoped in loading my bags… my big suitcase twisted and toppled, starting a sad game of dominos, sending me and my carry-on tumbling backwards. 

yep. there i was on an airport escalator, flat on my back and holding onto my bags for dear life. i felt like a turtle someone had cruelly flipped over for sport, quite literally saved by the shell of my very full backpack. i can’t believe this is happening. there were two women above me, and they turned around at the sound of my demise, mouths gaping wide. a stranger leapt to my rescue, setting me upright and running off before i could even thank him. i told the (luckily) only two people who witnessed the fall™ i was fine. and i wasn’t lying, i really was fine. i’d been in manhattan for all of nine minutes before it knocked me on my ass. if anything, it was funny. no, it was really funny (i kept giggling to myself in the lyft). and if anything else, it demolished my pride so i could be ready to grow the way i came here hoping to. nothing like the rise and literal fall of my ego to wake me up and welcome me in. next time though, i’ll probably just take the elevator.