On this day nine years ago, I stuffed two huge duffel bags with all my clothes, left my apartment in Seattle for the final time and boarded a red eye in route to NYC. At the time, many emotions and questions were racing through my mind. Do I have what it takes to succeed in the big city? Will I be able to survive in the concrete jungle away from the mountains and lakes of the Pacific Northwest? How the hell am I going to navigate the subway? Will I make enough money to live comfortably? I was nervous about so many unknowns but amped about the endless potential and opportunities of NYC.
When I finally landed at JFK and deplaned, I was still half asleep and took a minute to get my bearings. I then stumbled to the baggage carousel, located my overstuffed bags and hoisted them on to a SmarteCarte so I could make my way to the taxi stand. Since I landed early on a Sunday morning and the airport was virtually empty, I was able to stroll right to the front of the line. As soon as I got to the curb, I was greeted by a middle aged cabbie from the Bronx with a thick New York accent. He got out of the taxi, helped me load my bags into his trunk and slammed the door behind me as I got into the back seat.
We made eye contact through the rearview mirror and he asked, “Where would you like to go, chief?” I fumbled with my tattered itinerary, glanced back at him and relayed, “I’m heading to 48th Street between 7th and 8th Avenue. Do you know how to get there?” The cabbie laughed for a second and glanced back at me. “With all that stuff, you must moving to the city, huh? What brings you here?” I explained that I had just moved to the big city for a new job and was starting a new life. Our eyes met in the rearview mirror once again. He then he became serious and delivered words I’ll never forget:Read More