Moving to the Big City: How hard can it be?
I’m convinced I’m living in a Hallmark movie. There has to be a camera crew waiting for me in my dorm, because things are going suspiciously well. The next few months are going to be the classic movie trope: suburban girl with ambition too big for her hometown finally makes it to the Big Apple! But in all seriousness, I am beyond blessed and extremely proud of myself for making it to the point in my life where I can start living out my own dreams.
Illinois suburbia is not for the faint of heart; there’s plenty of cornhole, country music, and Portillos to go around more than a few times. It’s hard to say I’ve gotten all I can out of my hometown, but I truly believe the cornfields can serve me no longer. That’s why I’m making The Big Leap® to my heart’s home: NYC. Illinois suburbia may not be for the faint of heart, but don’t get me wrong, New York City is no walk in Central Park. When I visited for the first time this past March to check out my prospective college campus, I got the full NYC experience: crying on the subway, visiting many Shake Shacks, and walking 26 miles in my trusty coffee-stained Converse over the span of 3 days. It was enough to make a girl reevaluate her life choices. However, it was the vibrance, the understood hustle of the city that begged me to stay. So with that, I accepted my spot at my university, applied for the thousands of student loans I needed and started building my new NYC wardrobe (still working on that one). But, it’s hard to leave behind everything I’ve ever known.
**********, IL: home to cute coffeeshops, PTA moms, and the classic Americana summer festivals. Sunsets here are painted by Van Gogh himself, I’m convinced. Growing up here was great, exactly what any kid could have asked for. I had it all: the neighborhood friends, the high school Poms team, a dance studio, the cutest Downtown area complete with a Mom & Pop ice cream shop. To the bystander, there was no reason anyone would want to leave. However, for ambitious city kids like me, our hometown is the most boring, unfulfilling, restrictive place on the planet. Escaping had been my only thought since freshman year. If you dared to dive into the depths of my freshman year diaries (viewer discretion advised), you would find something like this: “January 18, 2017: Today was okay. But during English 1st period, I was thinking, ‘How can I leave and come back to the high school reunion as the most badass person in the class?’ anyway, goodnight! -Love, Maddie.” Well 14 year-old me, we are certainly on our way.
After joining my high school's Model UN team on recommendation of my sophomore Geography teacher (beep beep nerd alert), I quickly learned I was pretty good at being a diplomat. I successfully saved my cabinet from an impending Russian bomb threat with the skill and ease of a professional (so I was told). After earning the Outstanding Delegate commendation after only my first convention, I decided this was the career route for me. International Relations, that’s a mouthful for sure. But if I get to experience the thrill of a 4 a.m. crisis call ever again, it’s worth the explanation. Diplomacy, Parli-Pro, and press releases don’t belong to the ‘burbs of Illinois, that’s for sure. My passions re-directed to finding the perfect place to pursue my dream of becoming a blogging businesswoman. Once I considered NYC, there was no topping it. Any of my close high school friends would be able to recite my major, dream college, and first apartment color scheme solely based on how much I incessantly talked about it. My motivation to study for every test, write every essay, recite every speech, was the dream of going to college and building my life in New York City.
It’s finally arrived, the dream is now. I’m leaving for the Big Apple in 28 days. Don’t worry, no cold feet here. My dorm decorations are almost complete, and my city wardrobe is a little bit more than a tote bag and a pair jeans now. But, to be honest, it’s all bittersweet. Cliché, I know, but ever since the almighty quarantine of 2020, I’ve learned to appreciate my hometown and soak in all the benefits of having my own sanctuary. Sharing a space for the next 4 years (at least) will be a test of patience, teamwork, and sacrifice. I don’t know if I’m ready for the hustle and bustle of New York, after living in the snail-paced speed of suburbia. I’d like to think my young pre-suburb years of life in Chicago has engrained the city speed into my muscle memory, but only time will tell.
**Cue Moonlight Serenade by Glenn Miller**
