me, myself, and i

New York City is a city like no other. Approximately, 305 square miles long, over 8.3 million folks from all walks of life, and more than 800 languages spoken. I moved here just a few, short months ago. Two large oversized suitcases and my laptop. My life line.

My move to New York is somewhat of a romantic story. I had an aching, an itch to move for quite some time. I talked about it, thought about it, dreamed about it. I claimed New York like most twenty-six year-olds claim boyfriends. Mine. “I’m moving to New York.” My out. My excuse. I didn’t have the desire to fully, wholeheartedly commit to anything...including a serious relationship. There was something bigger and better around the corner.

It was slightly scary to walk down that path alone in the dark, by myself. I needed a push. That’s when my dear friend, Natalie, entered the picture. Someone who has always encouraged me to live the life I had always dreamed. A friend I will grow old with. She invited me over for a delicious dinner at her friend’s beautiful downtown loft. Bright, city lights in the heart of Los Angeles. Perfection. As we sat down, we caught up on all of life. The usual. Work, family, friends, and the one-way trip that would forever change my life, as we know it. The question I dreaded to be asked, was, yep, asked, “So, when are you moving to NY, pumpkin”? My response “I don’t know. Soon?" I was secretly terrified. I’d been talking about it for months, but talking and doing are two totally different things. Natalie quickly took out her Norman Rockwell calendar, given to her by her grandfather. “When would be an ideal date for the move,” she asked. I thought to myself, March. March is when it will be warm in NY. Well, warm enough. I was coming from sunny California. I wasn’t ready to dive into a slew of snow just yet. I had to ease into it. March sounded like a good time. So, she grabbed her red pen and circled a date. March 22. That was it. Just like that. Over pasta, and mixed greens, I decided, I was moving. End of story. After dinner and the decision, we watched Away We Go, a Sam Mendes film, the mastermind behind American Beauty (one of my all time favorite films.) The movie, starring John Krasinski and Maya Rudolph, follows a lovely couple who travel around the United States to discover “home” on their own terms. After watching their journey, Away I went. NY, here I come.

Coincidentally, another girlfriend of mine, Sandy Bustamante my big sis, lovebug, chili bean had just gone to NY for fabulous fashion week. She, too, wanted to move to the big city. Leave a successful life behind and virtually start all over again. Build a new life brick by brick. Within a matter of days, my go-getter gal pal found a job. She found us a two bedroom apartment with a view of the east river. "Are you in," she asked. Without hesitation, I responded "yes"! Sold. One bathroom. Minor setback. No big deal. We signed the lease. I couldn’t wait a minute longer, so I left exactly a week earlier on March 15, the Ides of March. Ironic? Perhaps. I booked my one-way ticket to NY and didn’t look back.

I was on my way to the Big Apple. By myself. All by my lonesome. No job. No family. A dwindling bank account and no clue as to what my future entailed. My three best girlfriends (minus one bestie who tried to make it in time but tragically missed me by a few minutes) whom I’ve known for over 23 years came to bid me a final farewell. The life I had known, the friends and family I left behind, and the unfamiliar road ahead is what made this magical place exciting. I was leaving everything in hopes of finding something…

I spent nearly four years living in overhyped Hollywood. In my defense, West Hollywood. The cooler and hipper part to reside in. Life was good. I worked in the most glamorous line of work. Entertainment. Well, from the outside looking in, it seemed glamorous, but looks can be deceiving. After 26 years of living in Southern California, I made the decision to leave the life I was accustomed to. A life that was comfortable for a life of mystery, uncertainty, and anonymity.

I remember the drive to LAX airport. We hopped on the infamously jam-packed 405 freeway and arrived at our destination in less than twenty minutes. Unheard of. As we parked the car, my dad turned to me and said, “Without you, life is miserable.” It broke my little, tin robotic heart. In that moment, I felt selfish. I felt ungrateful for leaving my parents. They had worked so hard their entire lives to provide only the very best for me and here I was moving all the way across the country as far away from them as I possibly could. But my parents never once made me feel guilty. In fact, they encouraged me to always live my life with integrity, honesty, and kindness. My father handed me a homemade “kalbas” sandwich and gave me a great big bear hug. My mayreeg (mother) began tearing up and camouflaged it with a big, broken smile. She kissed me on both cheeks. My brother met us at the airport for the final goodbye. He said, “Don’t forget to document every moment and please don’t lose your nice, sweet self.” All three waved simultaneously. Au Revoir. Arrivederci. Adios.

The 5 hour and 26 minute flight flew by quickly. There I was at 5:55 a.m. on the other side of the country in the middle of JFK International Airport. Surrounded by strangers and a strategically placed Dunkin Donuts. Terrified. This was it. No turning back. Did I make a mistake? What was I thinking? I’d been to NY less than a handful of times and only when the weather was nice. Did I take into consideration that it snows here? Rains. It’s humid. I hate the humidity. It’s no good for my naturally, Armenian frizzy hair, I thought, as my crazy cab driver dropped me off in front of my apartment. Upon arrival, I was greeted by a big hug and smile by Bustamante. I was home.

There’s comfort in knowing that I can walk down any street, any avenue in any borough and not know a single soul. Not one person. Not one individual. In a city with plenty of somebody’s, I, Erica Marcel Sardarian, am a complete nobody…