In a city like New York, it’s pretty easy to get lost. This place can be confusing. I get off the subway and many times I am not sure in which direction I need to turn. And the lights and the smells and the people can overload my senses, distracting me from more quickly finding my original destination. For the most part, except for far downtown, the streets are neatly numbered so even when I initially have some trouble, after purposefully walking up, down and around the various blocks, I am able to point myself in the right direction. I also have a large, sticky spider web of friends, family, colleagues, roommates and acquaintances, all of whom I can call and ask for directions.    

One day, I was heading up to unscouted territory in northernmost , Washington Heights, where I planned to attend a community board meeting and report on it for a small political magazine. I decided to give myself plenty of time to get there: Washington Heights is beyond Harlem, but the A train goes right where I needed to go, 168th Street. The meeting was supposed to start at 8 o’clock.   

At 6 o’clock, too early to get on the subway and venture uptown, I find myself walking along a stretch of street in Midtown Manhattan and for the first time, I notice it is too dark too early--and cab lights are too bright--which reminds me that I long ago left my summer at the beach behind and have to button up my jacket. I look at my feet and realize that flip-flops are not appropriate in October and I wonder why I cannot ever seem to find a pair of comfortable and cute fall shoes in Manhattan, the shopping capital of the world. I look up and down 8th Avenue and I feel remarkably alone--the building lights and people illuminated by their glow seem foreign, like a movie set. My other, countless, worries creep in like that late fall darkness. I see everyone rushing around me and I imagine that I will never be anyone.   

I thread my way through people, maybe walking too slowly. I cross at crosswalks.  My cell phone is vibrating with offers of distraction: My roommates are home with the couch, cats and chicken casserole. Some friends are at happy hour. My mom and sister are six hours away and won’t be able to meet for coffee, but they’re thinking of me. I turn off my cell phone. Sometimes I don’t know what to say. I just don’t feel like talking.   

Further up 8th Avenue, on my way to the subway and Washington Heights, I walk by a familiar little café, where I remembered going when I used to live in Hell’s Kitchen.  I find a table and then stand in line, watching my bag and books over my shoulder.  I drink green tea with honey and my toes gradually start to warm up.   

I hate feeling lost. Getting off the subway even in the most familiar of areas always makes my heart beat a little faster: choosing which stairway to take, figuring out which direction to walk in and where I am going--not to mention avoiding the side of the street with the potential for (my) red face (construction sites and fire halls, where men can hover in intimidating groups outside)--can be exhausting. Once I got to Washington Heights, my mind combined its lack of directional instinct with a small bite of fear because I was entering totally unfamiliar, and from all accounts a little scary, ground. So I walked in the wrong direction, in the dark, three different times. A couple of kids hooted and hollered at me. But I didn’t ask for directions, and eventually found my way to the little board meeting.  

I sat on my cold metal folding chair, swathed in fluorescent light, and allowed myself a moment of triumph. I made it! And on the way out, a gleaming yellow taxi waited for me to take me back to my familiar territory downtown. I took the subway instead. That’s the best thing about living here: eventually you learn that getting lost is par for the course. And you start to appreciate the challenge.

Author's Biography

I am a freelance writer living and working in New York City. 

My writing focus is eclectic: I love topics ranging from nightlife/singles in the city, to health/lifestyle, politics and athletics. 

I am at work on my first novel, a mystery.

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