New Yorker
by Nicole Cushman
Ten years ago today, I boarded a plane at SFO on a one-way ticket to JFK. I had never imagined myself living in NYC. I moved here for grad school and always thought I’d wind up back in the Bay Area. In truth, people had been asking me if I was a New Yorker for years before I stepped on that plane; my response was always, “No, I’m just Jewish.” I was only half joking. My great grandparents immigrated through Ellis Island, and my mom was born at the Jewish Hospital of Brooklyn – a building which has since been converted to apartments, where I nearly moved in 2011.
Two years into my residency, I realized I didn’t want to leave. I was starting to build a life here, including a meaningful career, terrific apartment, budding community, and – most importantly – a new love. For a native New Yorker, Luke had surprisingly few opinions on when someone could rightfully claim New Yorker status. I had always stuck to the early guidance I received that one had to put in 10 years in the city before using that label, but Luke boldly posited that anyone living here could consider themselves a New Yorker if they felt it in their heart. Still, I demurred.
One year ago today, Luke and I were married in the living room of our Jersey City apartment (which I consider part of the NYC area – please don’t fight me on this). Surely, I thought, marrying my very own native New Yorker could accelerate my local status by a year. Reflecting on Luke’s guidance, though, I don’t think I truly knew I was a New Yorker until he died four weeks later. Many people assumed I would hightail it back to California after his death; nothing could be further from my heart’s desire. What kept me – and us – in New York all these years was our community. And now is not the time for me to leave my people, my support system. For better or worse, this city, these people, have got me.
I could have led this post with our wedding, which seems surely the more significant milestone on this date. But Luke and I never got to celebrate a wedding anniversary, so my major association with August 14th remains that fateful, cross-country flight. Marrying Luke was the best decision I ever made. I didn’t need that piece of paper to make me a New Yorker, but getting it conferred more significance to more aspects of my life than I ever could have imagined.
