My husband and I come from the same
relatively small town in the heart of Silicon Valley. We attended the same high
school with the same set of friends that we made when we were just learning our
ABC’s. Nestled at the foot of the Santa Cruz Mountains, and just a car ride
from San Francisco, my hometown is a safe, pleasant and desirable place, so
much so that its residents refer to it as “The Bubble.” Most people who grow up
there eventually make their way back to raise their kids there.
Surrounded by
family and friends, I’m sure my husband and I would have been content to raise
our children there, too. But a few years ago, when it became apparent that my
husband’s education would take us outside of The Bubble, we were looking
forward to it. We thought of it as an opportunity to challenge ourselves, a crucial
step in the development of our lives and our family.
Then we found out at the last minute that we would be moving to New
York City, where my husband would attend NYU Dental School. Though I knew it
was a possibility, I guess I never seriously considered that we’d actually move
all the way to Manhattan and raise our little babies in its famously boisterous
and dirty confines. I began to Google street views of apartments in the city,
and the fear took root. The buildings and streets and skies looked gloomy and
ominous. It didn’t help that friends openly doubted that we could successfully
get through dental school with such a young family in such a crazy place.
The shift happened gradually. Scrambling to find a preschool, learning
to live without cars, navigating online grocery shopping…my day-to-day life
changed drastically. But by having everything I knew stripped away, I learned a
great deal about myself and my ability to persevere. Our first winter, I
hoarded groceries in the event that we would be stranded in extreme weather. In
the spring, I struggled through the public transportation system alone with my
two children so that we could experience the city. I masked my fear of
strangers and the dark, grimy corners of the subway, feigning confidence so
that my children felt safe. Each time I emerged up the steps with one child on
my back and grasping the tiny hand of another was both an enormous relief and
another step forward. By the time
we had our first family picnic in Central Park, I had one of the most poignant
moments of my life. Sitting on the Great Lawn watching my babies smile and
laugh, I knew we could build a life for ourselves here—or anywhere.
I created a blog when we moved across the country, as a way for my
family to stay connected with us. That’s actually turned out to be another
unexpected but incredible part of this journey. I posted pictures of triumphant
moments like taking our first bus ride or
building our first snowmen. I made sure not to leave out the grueling
moments—pumping flat stroller tires in the pouring rain and sitting scared and
alone in the emergency room. The
emails started with readers, and later came from businesses, too. Who knew? All
of a sudden I had followers, and fans, and most importantly new friends. I also
had a growing business writing about who I am—a wide-eyed mom new to the big
city. In the last two years, my kids and I have met everyone from Elmo to Nick
Swisher!
I came to New York fearing everything, but I think I’m starting to get
it. With a little luck, this is a great city to raise children in. My fear now
is returning to The Bubble, and relearning how to live in suburbia! No matter
where we end up, home will always be the four of us.
Jessica Shyba blogs about her life and ongoing adventures at MommasGoneCity.com.
Photo by Ali Smith.
