Culture Shock: Civilization At Last

Contributor: City Girl

There are several places on this planet that I have no desire to ever live. Wyoming comes to mind, more than likely because I have a tendency to forget it's really a state. If there is someone from Wyoming reading this post I apologize, but I find the chances so slim that I won't worry too much about causing offense.

As my chosen pen name suggests, I am a city girl. I wasn't raised in the biggest of cities this side of the Pacific (or this side of the Atlantic for that matter), but I did grow up in a decent sized town with a lot of diversity -- not just culturally, religiously, and racially, but also in number of piercings, tatoos, and multi-colored hair. I consider myself pretty lucky in that respect. In a way it made me naive because I just kind of assumed that the rest of the world was as laid-back and creative and accepting and, well, weird as my home town.

Then I went to college.

The first time I saw my college campus I cried. It was raining and the campus is a hideous cement mess. There is a whole lotta ugly going on in western Mass despite the countryside. Well, I sucked it up and went there anyway. And I had a great time. And after four years I had never been so ready to pack up and leave a place as I was rural Massachusetts. A place where springtime is synonymous with the scent of cows wafting on the breeze.

I stayed for my last summer after I graduated in a run-down house because I had landed my first two paid acting gigs with a local Shakespeare festival. Then I peaced outta there.

When I first came to New York City to move in with my best friend from college I felt like my own theme song was following me around the city. You know, here I am, it's the first day of the rest of my life, that sort of thing. I had never felt so alive as when I was in the middle of Manhattan. I knew this was going to be the case because I had visited several times before as well as done a summer school program at The New School, and the feeling of exhiliration is still the same.

Sometimes I'm walking down the street and I forget where I am for a bit. I'm pensive and anxious about work, about men (my personal favorite cause of drama), about bills, about life, and I forget that I'm in the middle of the city that I wanted to live in more than any other in the world. Then I have to stop for a minute and look up at the buildings and lights and remind myself where I am. Yes, I wanted to move here and I really am here. And I love the people and the lights and the craziness of it all. I love the rush. I stop, and look around and I smile.

And then some guy pushes past me, elbowing me in the side, and yells: "Move, you crazy bitch!"

Yes, I realize, I really am home.