Staring off into the Boston skyline with limitless beads of salty perspiration flooding down my face into the faux grass rug underneath my foldable lawn chair; the music blasting, a beer in one hand and a Monica’s Deli Italian sub in the other. Our apartment rooftops were the closest thing we could get to soak up the summer sun in the city. After growing up on the beach this slightly crushed my soul to be sweating on a hot rooftop rather than dipping my toes in the crisp ocean water. But somewhere in mind I decided that living in a city was the way to go. I loved the busyness. Always people coming and going, never knowing who you could meet next. Ever since I was young I dreamt of living in New York City. The idea of it made me eager to grow up as fast as possible so that I could move out and be on my own in the awe inspiring ‘big city’. However, after graduating high school New York didn’t seem like the right place just yet. After visiting and applying to colleges all around the country I decided on Boston. It seemed like a reasonable stepping-stone from Catholic high-school beach life to big city madness. To me Boston felt like a hometown city with enough people to spark your interest but enough consistency to create a life.
As I sipped on my Sam Adams Summer Ale I remembered, my cousin Emily’s birthday. “I have to call her right now!” I alarmingly thought to myself, due to the fact that I almost always forget everyone’s birthday. It was a miracle that it even dawned on me in my dazed state of mind. “Hey Em! Happy Birthday!! I wish I was there to celebrate with you.” Emily responded, “I know I wish you could come out with us tonight! Its going to be so much fun.” In that moment I stopped and thought, “You know what, I will”. Immediately I hung up the phone and booked a train ticket to the big, beautiful New York City. There was something that happened in that moment when I decided to just go. I felt like this was going to be more than a weekend trip. This was going to be something bigger.