Self and the City is a column intended to increase visibility and dialogue surrounding mental health, relationships, harmful stereotypes, and the necessity for self-care and vulnerability. Self and the City will be headlined by Jessa Chargois on a bi-weekly basis. Submissions and guest columnists are welcomed to send work to hannah@chillhouse.com
I believe that New York is horny again. That’s not to say the city that never sleeps lost its magnetic glow, rather, the springtime air carries an extra sense of optimism the winter fog was devoid of, bleak and frigid. Our 8.4 million neighbors undoubtedly feel it, so do you?
The springtime sunshine has brought out freckles I never knew I possessed. While half are hidden from the strangers who pass me by on the street, concealed by the masks we still don, the joyful eye contact is far from overlooked. I’m unsure of when I first took note of its return; the sense of wonder exchanged between two friends yet to become acquainted, however, this is all I can notice these days. From a sideways glance held for a few seconds too long, to a visible head nod in one’s direction, strangers have returned to the poetic dance built on respect and admiration of one another. Begged to keep our distance, the 8.4 million New Yorkers drifted apart, scared and encouraged to remain dormant. Yet, as I navigate the bustling streets filled with audible glee and locked eyes, the months spent apart to protect one another preserved some moments in time.
This is the feeling that defines this city; echoing laughter, vehicles weaving through the hectic streets carrying passengers off towards new journeys, nighttime falling only to be lit up by the string lights of rooftops teaming with blossoming friendships, parks bathed in sunshine covered picnic blankets, sirens blaring only to be drowned out by neighbors shouting the lyrics of Mr. Brightside at 3 PM on a Sunday, strangers walking hand in hand towards a new relationship, children squealing gripped tightly to the out-of-control handlebars of scooters barreling down a sidewalk, the jingle of the neighborhood ice cream truck reintroducing us to the safety of outdoors. My smile may be hidden behind the precaution of a medical mask, yet, I’m all too sure my eyes are beaming as I am reminded why I fell so madly in love with this energy, this city, this mutual dance with those who will never know me for more than a shared second.
I’ve discussed my fear that I have wrapped myself up too tightly with a security blanket of New York City’s energy multiple times. As I sit here on my rooftop, watching my puppy sunbathe in the springtime sunshine, music echoing through the communal airspace of our Brooklyn apartments filled with countless neighbors working outside under the cloudless blue sky, I am forced to reevaluate this concern. While previously, I’ve tied my identity up with the personality of New York City, I now wonder if rather, I’m madly in love with the energy, an energy that breeds opportunity. This energy has granted me fireflies, love and loss, confidence in written word, a deep belief in my intuitions, and most recently, the courage to express my deepest desires to those who matter most to me. While these lessons are far from mutually exclusive with this city, I will forever carry them with me as I continue to grow and learn who I want to be, just as the springtime sunshine has left me with new freckles that I shall carry for years to come.
When I say New York City is horny again, I’m not just referencing the burning desire for human contact or physical connection. While we all undoubtedly are that type of horny, I mean to touch on our yearning for the spontaneous and limitless experiences that can only be found in a packed cityscape such as a city. I am horny for a pure circumstantial coincidence of stepping on to a subway car shared with dear friends navigating to their own destination. I am horny for a packed dive bar filled with twenty-somethings who will shout the lyrics to songs older than we are. I am horny to hold the hand of someone I’ll fall in love with as we discover a new shared favorite place. I am horny to watch my puppy roll in the dirt of our dog park as I finally get to know the bottom half of my local fellow dog owners’ faces. I am horny to don an outfit that does not consist of a single piece of athleisure in preparation for a night spent dancing somewhere other than my roof. I am horny to meet more fireflies, to find more love and loss, and to experience more to share with you through written words. I am horny to redefine my relationship with self-care and vulnerability as we pave the way for a joyful, safe, and limitless future in New York City. So while yes, those glances held for a second too long may be one type of horny, I’m embracing all that comes with it. Clearly that springtime air is getting to me. Is it getting to you?
