I love NY

I may not have a million dollars to my name, a statuesque boyfriend on my arm, and more often than not, I feel like I get the "short end of the stick," but one thing I do have is my beloved Manhattan.

"What prompted you to move to New York? How long have you wanted to live here?" I get asked this question quite often, and my reply is always the same: "I've wanted to move to New York since I was about 3 or 4 years old, right after I saw the movie 'Annie.' I was fascinated by her life and wanted to live in a red brick apartment building just like she did." Born an 8th generation Texan, I was stereotypically raised on a spacious plot of land, driven to school in a Chevy Suburban and spent many of my younger summers at a camp outside of Austin where I learned how to shoot a rifle and pray to Jesus (despite the fact that I was a Jew).

I felt blessed to have grown up in a Mexican border town that exposed me to a different culture, thus creating the birth of my love affair with the Spanish language and cuisine. I would also realize, at a much later point in life, that for a smaller town in Texas, we had quite a sizable Jewish population. At 18, I left home and went to a state college 6 hours due East of my hometown, where I would face the biggest culture shock of my life. Everything that I loved about growing up with diversity had instantly changed the minute I entered this next phase of my young life. For the first time, I had numerous peers share that I was "the first Jewish person they'd ever met." And looking back, I've lost count of the number of times I was either handed the infamous book, "Left Behind," or cornered at party and asked if I'd pondered converting to Christianity.

I'd be a liar if I said that these experiences didn't prompt me to want to do my college internship as far away from Texas as possible. So in March of 2001, I was thrilled to learn that I'd been accepted as a Food and Beverage intern at the New York Marriott World Trade Center. From the end of May through August 2001, I spent twelve 40-hour work weeks in the 22-story hotel that connected World Trade 1 with World Trade 2. I left New York ready to begin my senior year of college with the notion that I'd return to my beloved city once I graduated. For the first time since leaving my hometown, I had regained a sense of self, belonging, culture, inspiration and focus.

Within weeks of my return to school, I was prematurely awoken by a strew of phone calls alerting me that an explosion of sorts had erupted at the World Trade Center. Sadly, we all know where this story ends; how many folks we lost, how many hearts and families were broken, and how much of a domino effect this has caused our country, economy and world.

I'll never forget going to my dreaded weekly sorority meeting on that first Monday after September 11th. We held a candlelight vigil in our house's front yard, then went in to our "chapter" room (which was just a large space with about 100 chairs to seat all of the women) for our meeting. As the sorority president was speaking to us about the tragedy, a young lady whom I'd spent some time with during Rush Week passively raised her hand and was called on to speak. "I think that we need to pray for all of the people who died at the World Trade Center that hadn't accepted Jesus Christ in to their lives, and are now going to Hell," she confidently said. As images and faces of people that I had worked with during my internship began playing like a slide show in my head, my eyes welled up with tears and I ran out of that room as fast as I could. I remember sitting in my parked car sobbing as I waited for my fellow sorority sister and roommate to exit the meeting so we could go straight home. It was on that day, Monday, September 17th, 2001, that I vowed to myself that I would do anything in my power to return to my beloved New York City for good.

I'm not trying to paint an ugly picture of college or growing up in the South, but I am very thankful for the challenges I went through because they eventually led me to where I am today. Being an 8th generation Texan is something that I am extremely proud of, and I would not change my childhood or life experiences for anything in the world. I will always be a Southern girl at heart, and I do believe the famous phrase, "You can take the girl out of Texas, but you can't take Texas out of the girl." However, after living in New York now for a little over 4 years, I know that this is the right place for me.

…

Until we eat again,

Lindsay, The Lunch Belle