My first day in New York was Saturday, January 19. I arrived with my parents and a van full of clothes, bath towels, and a whole lot of nerves.

My parents were pleasantly surprised at the lack of traffic coming into the city, but unpleasantly not surprised at the difficulty finding a parking spot. After lots of circling around blocks, my father finally settled into a spot about 3 blocks from my apartment. In New York yards, a parking spot 3 blocks away is as good as one in your driveway.

As we unloaded, my dad kept promising “One more trip!” to my new roommate, staring skeptically at the amount of suitcases and armloads my dad, my mom and myself carried in.

 

Who wouldn’t be skeptical when the amount of clothes to overflow a spacious, walk-in closet was expected to be crammed into a closet that looked more like a dent in the wall than anything else?

 

Despite my mother’s consistent suggestion “We can take a few things back with us you know.” I was determined. All of my clothes would fit in this room if I had to cram them into every nook and cranny possible. And they did…sort of.

 

Note to self: double hangers are the world’s greatest innovation since Post Its.

 

I packed and unpacked. My roommate showed me around and told me things about the neighborhood. She showed me how to lock/ unlock my door. Turns out, this is no easy task. Turn clockwise then counterclockwise or was it counterclockwise then clockwise? My key stuck and caught, leaving me left on the outside looking in.

 

“Okay well try again.” My roommate suggested, her voice a perfect balance of kindness and worry.

 

After a few more attempts, I managed to successfully open my door.

 

I spent that evening with my parents. We went out for dinner. My dad showed me his company’s New York office, and my mom made sure I had proper footwear for work. We sat third row at the August Wilson theater for a performance of Jersey Boys. The night was perfect.

 

Somehow, I couldn’t help going back to that afternoon. My night with my parents was wonderful, but my parents were not going to be here every night. In fact, nobody I knew was going to be here every night. Was every thing that I did in New York going to be another version of opening my apartment door?

 

As the time for my family to leave came closer, I became more and more anxious. As soon as they drove away, this adventure would be real. The internship, the subway, the tiny apartment would all be real pieces of my life. These pieces would exist without the comfort of my family and friends.

 

My parents left. My mom and I cried.

 

“It’s going to be a great semester,” my mom promised.

 

I climbed the stairs to my apartment with my keys in hand, and the door to my apartment opened. On the first try.

Vest Esther | Denim Top American Eagle | Green Pants Zara | Shoes Gap (similar) | Purse The Sak