What I Did On My Summer Vacation: Finding Adventure Close To Home

By Lauren Jonik

I’m sitting under the towering gaze of the blue expanse of the Manhattan Bridge in Brooklyn, NY. The sun is setting and the sky has taken on a pale blue hue dappled with wispy white and gray clouds overlapping each other. The summer of 2008 is coming to an unofficial close and my thoughts have turned to what I did on my summer vacation: stayed in my own neighborhood. Living in a historic part of Brooklyn, tourists are a common sight from late April until October, but this year, with the addition of the art project by Olaf Eliason of man-made waterfalls and the weak US dollar, their numbers increased exponentially. I applaud tourism. I’ve traveled a lot in my three decades of existence both with family, friends and alone. I had seen almost the entire continental United States by the time I was twelve years old and by then, my wanderlust was thoroughly awakened.

So, when I am asked for directions repeatedly, I answer with joy and have been known to even walk the wandering visitors to their destination if time permits. But, by the end of this summer, my appreciation for tourists had repeatedly turned to annoyance. For whatever reason, many of the people visiting have been rude and oblivious to their surroundings. They would stand in large groups covering more than the width of the sidewalk gazing at a map for several minutes. They would pause at the very top or the very bottom of the subway stairs, blocking the passage. They would stand in doorways on the subway and refuse to move when the doors open to let passengers on and off of the trains. I understand that when you’re on vacation, it’s easy to let your manners fade, but I also believe that if you’re the visitor somewhere, the onus is on you to be respectful of the surroundings. When I was in Paris, I tried to learn phrases in French. I knew that there were people on their way to work when I was on the way to see the Eiffel Tower. And, when I was on the plane to Treviso, Italy from France, I had my "Italian to English" dictionary in hand. Granted, I was mostly concerned in learning how to ask where the internet cafes were and communicating that I’m vegetarian, but I digress. I made sure to learn "please" and "thank you" and used them freely. Though my efforts may have been barely coherent, I know that they were appreciated. Maybe almost three years of living in New York City is getting to me and I’ve started to accept that maybe I indeed have become the stereotypical New Yorker. I walk fast, I think fast and feel overwhelmed much of the time. But, I also have never felt more creative, more alive and more connected to the people I am friends with—regardless of where they live. And, I wouldn’t trade this for anything. I know how rare these gifts can be. I struggled for so many years to find where they lay hidden both within me and under the rocks and jagged edges of the world.

It rarely would be debated by anyone who has been here for any length of time that New York City challenges all who live here. The competition is some of the strongest here and the playing field is never quite even enough to feel like you’re on solid ground unless you’re one of the chosen few. But, the city also teaches how to find one’s own equilibrium if you let it. As August neared its midpoint, I found myself frustrated and like I had been spinning my wheels. So much of my life revolves around survival and with a dose of irony worthy of celebrity tabloid fodder, the more creatively productive and successful I become, the less capable I feel of keeping up with the daily necessities of my life. My father thinks I just need a new boyfriend, but I think I need an assistant. One day, tired of observing endless stereotypes about the worst annoyances of humanity in action, I decided that there was only one thing to do: if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em.

Putting on my sneakers, I grabbed my trusty camera and headed on an adventure to see my own neighborhood through fresh eyes. I remembered the amazement I felt when I first started visiting the city. I was in love. Life was so magical and full of possibility and I truly believed that anything could happen. Now, I know that that is true. And, while my naïveté has been long washed away, I wanted to reclaim the sense of wonder that I once felt. I meandered through the cobblestone streets, walked across the Brooklyn Bridge at sunset, took photos of the view of the Manhattan skyline and gazed at the city light reflecting on the surface of the shimmering East River. And, with each step, I began to reclaim something that I have long since lost: my feeling of my innocence about this city. Though it was only momentary, it was enough to remind me of why I’m here: to find my own magic and live inside that which is so abundant here.

While I refuse to use any of the fake words ("staycation" or "chillaxin" come to mind) coined by the media, I do see the value in exploring your surroundings wherever they may be as if you were someone else. And, as I stand on the brink of beginning another phase of my professional life with my long-awaited return to school, I can’t help but accept that I am someone else from having lived here. These memories and experiences I’m collecting from life in the big city are more than souvenirs: they making up pieces of who I am.