The Chaos of the City
On strivers, stress, and finding calm in New York
There is a certain level of anxiety and daily stress that New York seems to not only foster, but demand. If you’ve ever seen a New Yorker jog down a staircase to a subway platform, you’ll know what I mean. It’s as though we’ve each individually decided that it’s better to expend a bit more energy to get to where we’re going faster than to arrive on the platform having just missed a train. The desperation of knowing that you’ll be late combined with the forced inefficiency of waiting for the next train is palpable in slumped shoulders, huffs of frustration and mumbled expletives during rush hour.
Part of this mentality may be driven by the speed with which we now work, and the rapid exchange of information across the dozens of networks we use for personal, business and public use. Not so long ago I was commonly holding a screen in front of life, frequently slicing off a portion of my attention to Instagram what I was doing or look something up online. I’ve since made a conscious effort to be more present when I’m with people and pay attention to the moment instead of the media — which has meant reducing the amount of time I spend on social media for personal use. In the last few months of experimenting, I’ve found that I’m much happier spending less time on the platforms I feel I ought to be on, and more time connecting with people in person, exploring other cultures, and injecting opportunities to find wonder, curiosity and beauty in real life. I’ve even tried some digital detoxing, though I haven’t yet made it if not for entire days or weekends; going without a smartphone for hours is accomplishment enough, for now.
And yet, there seems to be another level of stress that New Yorkers add to the collective Western obsession with constant connection: People who live here are strivers, if not by born temperament then through osmosis. We are instilled with the drive to do more, be more, earn more, have more, consume more, in a way that I’ve never experienced anywhere else. To wit: I recall telling a fellow friend from Minnesota that I wouldn’t have pursued graduate school if I hadn’t been nudged along by so many others’ success stories and unspoken expectations of achievement in New York. I frequently wonder what life would be like if we stayed in the Midwest, and envision a parallel universe where we had. Would we still be working in bars and bookstores? Would we still be making art? Or would we have found a similar path there and still wound up in museums and media?
But the level of anxiety that accompanies all that striving recently started to feel like too much for me, and I began to wonder: is it all worth it?
Would we be happier if we were writers and artists (and, perhaps, baristas) living in a modest house in a smaller city with less traffic, noise, and chaos but more green space, open air and quiet? Or would we miss the energy and excitement of having world-class theater, music, art and food within easy reach, become bored with the repetition of limited options? More broadly, how much are we a product of the physical environment we live in, and how much of our happiness is an internal set-point that wouldn’t change according to location?
Don’t get me wrong: New York is incredible. I think everyone should try living here, if not forever than at least to have amazing experiences for a few years. I’ve seen more world-renowned art, opera, music and theater than I ever would have had access to in Minnesota. We have tens of thousands of restaurants featuring cuisines from all over the world, not necessarily all expensive. And the career opportunities are virtually unsurpassed in this country; there are only a few other cities where both my husband and I could find similar positions in our fields. I’m grateful for all these experiences, and traveling abroad has helped me appreciate anew how varied and colorful our adopted city is when we return home. I’ve vowed to get out of my routine more, explore more, be curious more — to treat New York as a place to explore as though we were tourists in our native land.
And still I wonder: is there a time limit on New York? We’ve been here for more than 10 years and our friends have begun to settle down, start families and move away to places where it’s easier and more financially feasible to raise a family. Perhaps they’re more peaceful, or perhaps they’ve gained new perspective and priorities in life as we all get older… it certainly looks pleasant enough on Instagram, and everyone seems cheery about their new cities so far when we see them, sharing stories of the experiences that New York City couldn’t offer them, for one reason or another.
One day I imagine we’ll decide that we’ve had enough and, in the words of Joan Didion, say goodbye to all that. We’ve even thought about retiring to a foreign country some day, or moving to the country and taking up gardening and writing in earnest. Until then, I suppose I’ll keep striving, and keep trying to find some inner calm amidst the chaos of this city.
