New York City, NY: “The City that Never Sleeps”, right? If I’ve realized anything from living in NYC for 3 months, it’s that they don’t call it that for no reason.
Now for quick anecdote on hustle culture: the scene is set, October 3-9, 2021: week 6 of college in NYC. As I looked around at my friends, I noticed we all looked a bit more tired than usual. Granted, most of my friends (including my 2 roommates) are dance majors, so originally I thought they were exhausted from the 20+ hours of dance per week they were subject to, and that I was apparently just tired that day. However, one Friday night sitting around in our friends dorm down the hall, my friends and I got into a discussion about hustle culture. One of my friends began to cry as she talked about just how exhausted she was from simply existing in NYC— and I couldn't agree more.
Originally, that was part of the draw of this wonderfully cracked-out city. In the past, I’ve been known to work myself to the point of exhaustion or stress myself out to the point of recurring stomach ulcers (I’m looking at you junior-year schedule). So, as one can imagine, a city that never stops pushing, bustling, honking, and flashing was the dream of dreams for me; until it wasn't. For about 2 weeks in the middle of October, I was just over it. The hustle culture was invading my sense of relaxation— overcome with the feeling I should be doing something at all times, otherwise I was wasting my time in this beautiful city. As I opened my eyes every morning around 7:30 to the blaring alarm from across the room, it would only take a quick glance outside to see people with briefcases on the go, students flooding in and out of subway stations, even kindergarteners with backpacks skipping to school. I would wake up with the feeling that I was already behind. Even knowing my roommates were out the door on their way to 5 hours of strenuous exercise before I was out of bed was daunting— what the hell was I doing wrong? I knew I wasn't alone in this either, thankfully I have a great relationship with both of my roommates where we’re able to talk about these things freely. After a shared slight mental breakdown one day I asked my roommate if she felt the same way. I was met with an overwhelming yes. As she describes it, “Originally, I found it (hustle culture) so exhilarating and fresh but never gave myself time to relax. Now, because of that, it’s definitely more tiring; I know once I get a year of living here under my belt it will get easier but as of right now I will say yes, It is exhausting.” Thank God I’m not the only one.
As the month continued, I began to rationalize my mentality a bit more. I made the trek back to Chicago one long weekend to see family and friends (yes, even Ruby!) and center myself a bit. Best decision I could have made. Upon my third day back in my sweet midwestern hometown, the urge to go on a long walk in the city was eating me alive. The pace was so incredibly SLOW. People ambled, lounged around, hell even the Starbucks line was slower (which to this day I do not understand— there are so many more people in any given NYC Starbucks). It was great to slow down; it demonstrated to me how much I missed the speed of the city. Upon my return to NYC a few days later, I fell back into my pace. Motivation and ambition coursed through my veins once again. The pace of the city was a resounding affirmation of my decision to live in NYC.
As I sit here in a local coffeeshop, surrounded by people in sweaters and glasses typing away at their keyboards, I’ve realized I look just like them. Part of this realization makes me smile— 1 year ago today I would’ve only dreamed I would be here. The other part of me is relieved— If I can look just like the hustlers, but still feel like a rookie, maybe I’m not alone in my struggles. Hell, they look just like me.
My advice to anyone living in the city, planning on living in the city, or feeling the same undiagnosed exhaustion: take it slow. You do not have to be the businesswoman power walking down Broadway in a trench coat yet. She will arrive. Everyone you see out on the street at 6:00am on their way to work has their own version of imposter syndrome; it’s not just you babe. Take it one day at a time.
xoxo, Maddie
