ode to friends

Feet belonging to Carissa and me, on a sunny October day in Sleepy Hollow, NY. 

Weeks have passed since my homecoming, and I finally have a moment of stillness to gather my thoughts on the friends who made my life in New York City so very rich. I know I will look back on those six months with fondness, but what will first come to mind [before the thrill of neighborhoods explored and coffee shops visited and afternoons brimming with activity] will be the faces of the people who marked my days there, and who became dear friends. 

In December, my friend Mallory surprised me with tickets to the Rockettes' Christmas Spectacular show at Radio City Music Hall. It was undoubtedly magical - so polished, extravagant and filled with dynamism and skill. It was festive entertainment par excellence, with an endowed orchestra playing the best yuletide carols and tunes, flawlessly synchronized dancers and an elaborate stage with backdrops of New York, Bethlehem and the North Pole. The Rockettes truly did not miss a single step, and their famed kick line left me astounded! The rise and fall of the eighty pairs of gams was of seamless periodicity, and I thought to myself they looked like a single, dazzling unit. The performance was, of course, incredibly flashy and ostentatious - albeit refined - yet, I found that the Nativity scene woven into the end of the show was breathtaking. Glamorization aside, it bid the audience an opportunity to reflect and stand in awe. 

I was so grateful to have gone to such a landmark show in this magical city - to experience this beloved time of year in my beloved New York. And most importantly, I am speechless that Mallory would be so generous and thoughtful in gifting me with this send-off present- such a kind gesture from such a sweet friend. 

I met Mallory on a Sunday morning in the sweltering heat of New York in July. She was kind and welcoming, extending an invitation to her community group on Wednesdays. Having arrived in Manhattan from Texas just a month before me, Mallory knew the ebb and flow of excitement, overwhelm, joy and loneliness that this transition held.

We did a thousand things together over my six months in New York. There was that brunch at Bubby's where she suggested we split one sweet and one savory dish (brilliant friends are, truly, good friends to have), and how we agreed we just had to order takeout slices of apple and banana espresso pie to share at hers, later that day. There was the long walk in Battery Park where we talked and walked and talked and walked along the Hudson. There was high tea with scones and clotted cream at Alice's Tea Cup, and the afternoon spent in the Museum of Natural History. There was dessert at the Plaza and ambling down 5th avenue all gussied up for Christmas. Neither of us transplants could contain our tongue-tied excitement about the holiday windows at Bergdorf Goodman and the light show at Saks. There was the tradition of Thursday night dates: anywhere from Serendipity for frozen hot chocolate, to The Smith for chicken pot pie and tomato soup. And there was the wander across Central Park with warm drinks cradled in our hands, stretching our legs and nursing our hearts. 

Through Mallory, I would meet the mighty women making up my community group in New York City. Wednesday nights, we would cloister into Emalyn's apartment and ask honest questions, convulse in laughter, dig deep together, and wonder about the things of God. This gathering would soon become my home team in the city, and I feel a swell of gratitude for each of them. On one of my last nights in the city, sweet Audrey planned a goodbye party at Celeste's on the Upper West Side that assembled the group -and I couldn't contain my indebtedness for the gift of friendship, and for these beautiful New Yorkers who truly graced this season of my life. 

Within that group, I tilled the soil of many other precious friendships. Meg and I were instant friends -and I'll cherish our many walks to the subway after community group, Wednesday after Wednesday. Every week, the walk seemed to get shorter and shorter, as if we had a million more things to talk about. We volleyed thoughts about our families, our hopes, the city, our faith, its deconstruction, and books -so many books. On Thanksgiving morning, upon realizing we would both be in the city, the two of us planned a trip to the parade. We crossed the park and stood on Central Park West, admittedly smitten with the stream of floats bobbing by in crisp November air. I like that memory. 

Mallory, Meg and I bonded quickly over honest chats and steady laughter. Memories abound with those two, notably when we three ventured to Astoria in search of Greek food -getting our fill of spanakopita and moussaka-and, later, to Buffalo Exchange for a successful round of thrifting. And there was also the day we planned an afternoon at Neue Galerie, where we contemplated Klimt and Gerstl and Schiele and a special exhibit on Kirchner. Before meandering through the winding trails in Central Park as night befell, we ducked into Café Sabarsky - a veritable Viennese coffeehouse- for hot chocolate and tea. The sweetest Saturdate.

And one thing is for certain -friendship in New York entails brunch. A love language, of sorts. There were times for EJ's Luncheonette with Breanne and a homecooked breakfast spread with Adeline -- and so many, many other memorable dates sprawled across the city. I love the rhythm of gathering on a slow morning and talking until the afternoon makes way. Not too long before my departure from New York, I spent a Sunday brunching all afternoon with Breanne and Meg at Gotan, sipping and noshing to our hearts' content over delightful pourovers and fresh orange juice and avocado and biscuits and eggs. We then walked southward to the Christmas Village at Bryant Park and marveled at the unique privilege of living in this city which wears holidays so well.

I can't forget the many colleagues-turned-friends, too. Over the Summer, many lunch breaks were spent with Maidinuer and Rachel in Tudor City Greens and, to this day, my ears still ring with the roar of their intelligence, their depth, and their thoughtful (thought-full) feminism. There was pizza and beers in Urban Space with Amélie and Rodrigo. There was Henry's Rooftop Bar, clinking glasses of Margaritas, and dancing the night away with Andy, my spunky Madridian. There was Prospect Park with Rach, and jazz with Maidinuer and Silvia, too. There were chats aplenty in the intern room with Joon, Elimane, Helen, Silvia, Lottie, Madison, etc. etc. There was my team -gosh, my team- who cherished and empowered me so well. From a picnic on Governor's island to Catherine's apartment for a Halloween party, to Nancy's place for a traditional faatah meal - they carved out the time for fun in spite of tireless days at the office. I couldn't have scored a more precious and diverse group of people to work alongside.

Too, my roommates provided unexpected friendship and comfort to me in the stretch of months I lived in New York. The apartment experienced quite a bit of turnover, but every woman that lived there was a gift in unique and uncountable ways. In Nicole, I found a common love of all things French, impromptu nighttime conversations in the kitchen, matchless fashion inspiration, and the best neighborhood spots for takeout. In Adeline, I found a shared awe of the city, a companion for weekend exploring, and the precious joy of familiarity -a friend from home, in my new one. In Carissa, I found answers to my neighborhood questions aplenty, the embodiment of hospitality -toward me, toward others- and the paradigm of incarnational ministry. In Wendy, I found spirited conversation, profound thoughts about racial injustice, and the example of a fierce woman of faith who takes the words of Jesus about Kingdom justice literally. I am mightily thankful I ended up living with women that are decisively different than I am -not because it was easy (candidly, it sometimes was not), but because it made home a decisively multifaceted space, inviting me to challenge my ideas and default settings and adopt a learning posture. And it was fun. We made each other taste our food concoctions, we split a birthday cake in honor of the boy's birthday, we teased the youth (hosted by Carissa) and made them taste vegetables (to their great chagrin), we spoke of everything from our morning routines to our theological persuasions, we waited hours for Chinese takeout, we jokingly squabbled over counter space, we found rhythms to accommodate one another, we celebrated little wins and big ones -like approved visas, new jobs, and an engagement, too. I know I will miss the many moments I shared with these women in that apartment on Davidson Avenue. 

A memory that stands out to me with Carissa was that Saturday in October we ventured upstate, to Sleepy Hollow. It was right before Halloween, and thus the perfect time to wander around the village where Washington Irving's legend takes place. We ambled around the town in crisp fallen leaves, sipped hot apple cider and admired the gourds and festive jack-o'-lanters sprawled everywhere we looked. When we'd had our fill of all that spooky goodness, we took to Tarrytown, another Westchester village along the Hudson. It was a quintessential sleepy town, with quiet streets, an old music hall and lovely Queen Anne estates. We ducked into a coffee shop playing Ella & Louis, talking about our lives back home, the youth she works with, how much she loves them. The sun set and we boarded a Manhattan-bound train, reposed and smiling. 

There were, also, those friendships that deeply struck the tenderest spots of my heart. With Audrey and Elizabeth, small talk swiftly unraveled into the type of conversations that make my heart thrill -with really guttural laughter, earnest intimacy and candid learning from one another. Those two don't have a shallow bone in their body -and my life has truly been made sweeter by the trio, of sorts, that we formed. Our moments together were decisively sparse given the busyness of our schedules -but whenever we did carve out the time, I would find myself whispering prayers of thanksgiving. In the Fall, as leaves began to shine brightly, we circled a date and a little town along the Hudson to explore (Cold Spring, to be exact). We made our way there eagerly, after a few weeks of anticipation. Our train ride gifted us with a vista of Fall's best colors, and by the time the train pulled into the quaint upstate village, I'd already decided this was a perfect day. Audrey, Elizabeth and I share an unquenchable love for New York, for stories, for contemplative faith, for piles (upon piles) of books. There was never -is never- a lack of topics to delve into with them. On that blessed sunny day, we sipped foamy coffee, delighted in leaves kissing the ground and golden chrysanthemums on every stoop, fell upon a quiet church with a steeple and stained glass, poked around dusty bookshops and antique stores, dined al fresco and swapped plans for a hike to read by the watercourse.

Weeks later, we circled another date and another magical spot. This time, 'twas for a writing brunch-turned-eve at La Mercerie in Soho, a few weeks before Christmas. Goodness, I'd do anything to relive that day alongside those two beloved wordsmiths that I would promptly call kindred spirits. In that place, words of deep pain and deep freedom were shared through this craft we three cherish -and I think we would all agree that moments like those these spur our growth as writers, as women, as friends. By the time we left the candlelit table with our edited manuscripts and nurtured thoughts, I couldn’t help but think this: in those quiet hours of creating and idea-wrestling and vulnerable sharing, we must have been on sacred ground. 

There are so many others to name -so many memories to keep. There was a Pho date and the sound of Annika erupting in laughter. There were conversations before community group with Emalyn, our convening at the bakery on York Avenue, her steadiness and heartfelt honesty and hospitality. There was Addie's fashion sense and felicity, Nicole's nurturing heart, Ji Son's candor. There were the many lunch dates Midtown and in Bryant Park with Peggy, and the joy of a quick friendship. There was Echo, friend-of-a-friend-turned-friend, and the unexpected ways she welcomed me to the city: giving me a grand tour of NYU, inviting me for many chats over light roast coffee, and that one December evening at the Wren with old jazz and lingering old fashioneds. 

Perhaps what pulls at my heartstrings most is this thought: every one of them chose and sought out friendship with me, knowing I was leaving. New York is ever so transient -and all New Yorkers know, full well, the sting of goodbyes. Yet, my little village of people in the city dove fully into friendship with me, despite the imminence of my departure. They blew air onto the sparks of a mere acquaintance, so that deep friendship would be set ablaze. I can't thank them enough for this. 

I smile when I realize that, undeterred by the realities of distance, I don't doubt the resilience of these friendships. While text messages and video calls are no substitute for the real thing, they're something worth celebrating. And I eagerly await visits to and from these New Yorkers in years and years to come. 

Who knows -maybe we'll end up being neighbors again one day.