Want to help me with a paper? All you have to do is read and comment.

Hey everybody! Back to the blog, and I hope you are enjoying it and not just ignoring the links I post on Facebook. I feel like I have to explain the following post. By reading, you are helping me revise a midterm paper. Exciting, right!?! I turned in a basic essay concerning the common theme of hope and dreams of New Yorkers for my "Storied New York" reading seminar. The professor seemed to like the idea of the paper. However, he has challenged me to make some wholesale revisions. I wrote the original more as an academic paper because I thought that's what was wanted. My professor, writer Suketu Mehta, asked that I write the revised paper due by the end of the semester in a personal essay style while tracing my theme through a few selected works. I figured I could post most of my essay on the blog since it is personal and in a way lets you know how I'm doing and what is going on in my head. Feel free to let me know if a part drags or doesn't make sense. Also. I was told to be more economic with my sentence structure (I.E. be more precise). So if you spot anything too wordy, let me know.  

 Hope in New York City Writing

I came to New York three months ago brand new to the city. I consider myself a prototypical transplant of somebody moving from a Midwest town of less than 2,000 people trying to find excitement in the “big city.” Un-jaded eyes allow me to see what is great about New York. They are still fresh and open to seeing what is possible compared to others.


My mind stays open, as well. When first leaving for New York all I could tell people is how many opportunities I should stumble across as a hopeful writer in the media capital of the world. Something about the uniqueness of New York compared to just about any other American city leads one to believe it somehow invigorates a creative mind.  I still have hope that New York has whatever I am looking for. The thought that things do not just magically happen in New York is slowly donning on me, though. This new idea came to me from tracing the theme of hope, dreams, and ambition in a seminar reading class about New York City. Many writers extol New York for the opportunity it provides. However, other works I read tell me not every dream comes true here.

Writer E.B. White and his short piece Here is New York signals a great example of what I am talking about. White states early in the piece that a good amount of New York’s 8 million residents arrived in the city as strangers seeking a type of “grail” just like I am.  The city’s grandness and privacy pull people to New York from their far away neighborhoods as they attempt to find their hope and spirit: “Many people who have no real independence of spirit depend on the city’s tremendous variety and sources of excitement for spiritual sustenance and maintenance of morale. In the country there are few chances of sudden rejuvenation – a shift in weather, perhaps, or something arriving in the mail. But in New York the chances are endless." This section of Here is New York speaks to me because it matches my story. Just like the people he mentions from the summer of 1948, I flocked to New York because it provides a rejuvenation that cities such as Chicago, Pittsburgh, or Washington D.C. could not offer.

White describes three distinctions of New Yorkers: those born in New York, those who commute, and those who come to the city in search of some quest. Obviously, I most identify with the newcomers. To a degree, White explains that the constant flow of new arrivals to New York gives the city its life and passion. White writes, “And whether it is a farmer arriving from Italy to set up a small grocery store or slum, or a young girl arriving from a small town in Mississippi . . . each embraces New York with the intense excitement of first love, each absorbs New York with the fresh eyes of an adventurer." Though hope is not always fulfilled in life, people continue to come to New York with the possibility of being part of something greater. Reading Here is New York was as comfortable to me as eating my mom’s homemade meatloaf. It gave me the impression I am not alone in this giant metropolis.