Dispatches from the Big Apple: Walking Uptown into the American Dream

The one thing that I wasn't prepared for in my visit to Manhattan was the sheer size of the place--both vertically and horizontally. On my first day in the city I walked for nearly four whole hours. I felt that in that time frame I had accomplished something great. I had explored a vast swath of New York. I had walked through the East Village and Soho, past Little Italy and Chinatown and all the way to Battery Park and then back. Later that night when I checked the map I was amazed not by how much I accomplished--which I had been bragging about off an on the whole evening to my friends--but by the amount that I hadn't seen. In my hours of wandering I had gone no farther north than 14th st.

In my travels I have seen a lot of the country. I have driven through the south, the southwest, the Rocky Mountains, the plains states, etc., and everything I have seen makes me believe that Manhattan is not, in fact, part of this country. It is a different mindset. We are a country of expansion. We build bigger houses, and we commute longer distances to them in our unnecessarily large SUV's. When compared to Detroit or Chicago, New York could just as well be somewhere in Europe, or maybe more appropriately, on the fucking moon. There is no "out" in New York, only "up". Buildings reach ever higher to take space away from the birds and convert it in to yet more lofts and office space. It is a city that spits in the face of population density statistics. Who needs an acre plot in the suburbs when you have a cramped 7x10 room in the East Village. As one of my friends said when we discussed this topic, "I don't need anymore space than this. I have a bed, a closet, and just enough room for a few necessary possessions. My apartment is for living--not entertainment--I have the city for that."

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As I walked up 5th Ave with a friend from college who was also visiting, we talked about the city and our perceptions of it. He grew up in Chicago and had visited New York a handful of times before and was interested in how I saw everything through virgin eyes. We talked about the scale of the city, and how its enormous place in pop culture taints the city in the eyes of its visitors.

Then he said something that caught me quite off guard. "This is it. This is the American Dream." No stranger to the endless debate that accompanies grandiose topics like what really constitutes the American Dream I was intrigued by this idea. I initially agreed with him. Taken on face value he had a point. We generally perceive the Dream (as I will call it from here on out) as being the pursuit of not just money, but comfort and social standing as well. Perhaps no street in America drips with more of these three things than 5th avenue. High rise buildings create a huge chrome hedge maze filled with people trying to find their way through. There is no horizon, no distance, just crisscrossing streets and dizzying heights. The luckiest of the people on the street--or more aptly, the most successful people--get to retire to their high rise apartments and look down on the fray. They found their way out of the maze and have been blessed with a balcony seat to watch the rest of us toil away.

However, like all the best generalizations, this one was also doomed to failure; a seemingly obvious failure that speaks to both the disconnect between Manhattan and the rest of the country as well as the vast social and cultural changes that have affected what we want most out of life.

Sometimes when I talk politics with people I feel as if we come not from neighboring cities but from different dimensions where the rules of the debate are different. Thinking about the Dream being a high rise in Manhattan brought about the same feeling. I could walk around my hometown and ask what each person felt was the Dream, and I can guarantee two things. First, I wouldn't get the same answer twice; and second, not one person would ever consider living in Manhattan, period.

Why then was I immediately drawn to this theory of a 5th ave. high rise being the ultimate end to every one's version of the Dream? Part of it has to do with money, obviously, but that part really doesn't interest me. It doesn't say anything real about the individual other than, if given the chance, they would take a life of luxury if given the chance.

What does interest me is the subset of people who could very easily classify this as the Dream, or at least their version of it. I would imagine the vast majority of these people would be between 18 and 35, have a college education, and a love affair with pop culture. Young, upwardly mobile professionals, people who could, from some of their earliest memories remember being conscious of New York City. Perhaps no place on earth is more force fed to the US population than New York City. For a middle class white kid who grew up watching entirely too much TV I was destined to be drawn to it. It is the rough equivalent of how tourist traps out west draw in visitors. Mysterious billboards announce a must see attraction hundreds of miles in advance, and this constant barrage of advertising gets you thinking. What is "The Thing" (see footnote)? We see New York in much the same way, except the selling point isn't so obvious. No one has to ask "What is New York?" to pique our interest. The draw is in the limited view we get of the city. For a thirteen year old kid watching Seinfeld reruns in flyover country the existence of such a place provides enough allure to bring us in.

People migrated to New York in the beginning because of the opportunities that were present there. This is where people flocked to from their home country to pursue their dreams, and its quite possible that the whole idea of an American Dream was built just like the city--slowly growing upwards to accommodate more and more people and ambition. Today the dreams of 19th century immigrants have been replaced by the ambition of young middle class professionals, bohemians, and repressed artists. The city is awash in money, culture, and art. It is a hub of endless activity. It is everything the rest of the country isn't.

This works for those eager to escape the confines of suburbia. But the Dream has changed. The promise of a better life that drew in so many people through Ellis Island still exists, but now it can be found elsewhere. Just as the rest of the country expanded, so has the Dream. Now it is a nice house with a yard, and enough money for a vacation or two every year. The comfort and opportunity can be found everywhere, but with the added benefit of space.

So where does that leave the Dream? Just as confused and muddled as the rest of this countries values and ambitions. The Dream used to be the opportunity to succeed, but the opportunities afforded to a good deal of the population over the past 60 years has splintered the dream. Now that the pathways to success are more open than ever before it is up to us to tailor the Dream to fit what we want. My dream may be that apartment in New York, while my neighbor's is a bigger house and a sports car. The specifics aren't important, whats important is that both me and my neighbor have the opportunity to build a life that is based more on wants than needs. We no longer dream simply of survival, we dream of surviving in style with a fully automatic dishwasher and a pool.

All this explains my reaction to my friend's theory of 5th ave being the center of the American Dream. My initial agreement was based more on my own dream than any bigger idea of what Americans strive for. But I soon realized that the American Dream as it has been known through this countries history is dead. We achieved the dream in 50's with the rise of the middle class. We killed the American Dream and opened up the landscape for millions of smaller dreams.

The American Dream is dead, long live the American Dream.

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(Footnote: I had the pleasure of stopping at a tourist trap that went by this name somewhere along the freeway between New Mexico and California. Billboards displayed large question marks, and cryptic questions about "The Thing's" origins to build up suspense. Once you get to the truck stop that houses "The Thing" all you need to do is pay your dollar and wander the exhibit, which includes various machines and antiques before concluding over a skeleton encased in glass. For my dollar I got more questions than I had when I entered, as there was little explanation of anything contained in that fenced in area behind the truck stop.)

Dispatches from the Big Apple: Coney Island Bound

Day one of my odyssey through New York started slow. It was a quiet tired early morning drive that got me to the airport. Barely able to keep my eyes open after a restless nights sleep I cruised down the interstate trying to keep my mind off the flight ahead.

I hate flying. I know it is a completely irrational fear, and that there are crates full of evidence to prove that I am safer flying than doing pretty much everything I do on a daily basis, but the fear isn't totally rooted in horrible thoughts of fiery plane crashes. I don't like ceding control to others. I don't even like being a passenger in cars, much less planes. Give me the wheel and let me take control, or watch me squirm uncomfortably in the passengers seat.

Despite my buildup of nerves, the flight went off without a hitch. There was very little turbulence and I quickly settled in to my seat and zoned out for the duration of the flight. After touchdown (and is there any better feeling than when an airplane's landing gear hits the ground? Not to to yours truly.) I caught a cab to Manhattan and began to soak up the city.

From my friends apartment in the East Village I made my way south along Broadway. It was hot and only the shade from the tall buildings that lined the streets gave any rest from the brutal sun. I walked slowly southward enjoying the hustle and bustle around me. Large groups of people flowed through the sidewalks like water down a river, constant motion past any obstacles (be them trash cans, light posts, or wide-eyed tourists).

I made it to the southern tip of the island and took a short rest in Battery Park. Ferries and tour boats moved through the water while the statue of liberty loomed large in the distance. Most pleasant was the smell of the ocean from where I sat. You could feel the breeze coming into the giant maze of waterways that carve up the city. As waves pounded the shore in front of me I felt the urge to jump headfirst into the surf (but my better judgement kept this slight urge in check).

After a long walk up the west side of Manhattan I made it to Washington Square park for a much needed rest. The scene was picture perfect. People were strewn out all across the park and children played in the fountain. There was a man under the large roman-esque archway who played a tune on his tenor sax as a young lady looked longingly at him from the other side. Another man had a group of 5 gallon buckets arranged around him with a snare drum and played wild shifting beats that seemed to help drive the activity in the park. I only wish the two of them would have gotten together, maybe even found someone to pound out a few notes on an electric keyboard, it could have been magical.

(Ah, how my best laid plans have gone awry again. This post was meant to be quickly followed up by another post of my trip later that night to see Wilco play an outdoor show in Coney Island. Unfortunately, I couldn't find the time to write the piece while I was in New York, and that trip was immediately followed by 10 days spent in a cabin in northern Michigan getting drunk and stoned in front of campfires and enjoying a scene much the opposite of NYC. Consequently I have removed the "part 1" from the title, and will be moving forward with another post (as I no longer feel like rehashing the concert). Stay tuned for another Dispatch from the Big Apple)

Dispatches from the Big Apple: The Buildup

A day before departure seems like as good a time to start a vacation narrative as any. I am sitting on my bed at home surrounded by piles of clothes and a suitcase. All that's left is the packing, then tomorrow morning I will be off to New York City for the week.

Vacations begin long before you step out the door to leave for the airport. Along with the physical tasks that accompany a trip--planning the trip, packing the suitcases, getting everything in the car--there exists a certain amount of mental prep work that needs to be done. In leaving our homes and the things with which we are familiar, we are opening ourselves up to the world. Vacations in American society today exist as our last grasp on geographic exploration. We are descended from thousands of years worth of explorers and wanderers. Our world is shaped by the inquisitive and adventurous nature of our ancestors. But the maps have all been made, and the corners of the globe have all been swept out in National Geographic articles and Discover Channel specials. So today we pack the kids in the car and drive to Disney World, or catch a trans-Atlantic flight to backpack across Europe for a couple weeks to wet our appetites. We long to chase the horizon as those before us did, to cover new ground. The new ground may be gone, but its spirit still lives.

Over the past few days I have begun the process of traveling, letting my mind wander off to New York City days before my body will arrive. There is probably no other city in the world that affords its potential visitors with such a wide range of imagined possibilities. The city looms real in my psyche, somewhere I've been hundreds of times, in the pages of books and on movie screens.

I try hard to keep my knowledge of the city in perspective. To me it exists as the ultimate pop cultural entity, housing stories of history, sports, music, and politics. In reality it is so much more, a living breathing place, like an organism run by millions of cells that work together to bring sentience. I know its face but not its body.

And so I am off tomorrow to experience a familiar place for the first time.