New Yorkers get a bad rap. Ask anyone from far enough outside the metro area (or even some proud natives) what New Yorkers are “like,” and you are bound to hear a slew of anxiety-producing adjectives and less than flattering phrases. From informal research and asking friends and family outside of the city what comes to mind when they hear the phrase “New Yorker,” here is what I have heard:
We are always in a rush. Impatient. Inconsiderate. Flustered. Constantly on cell phones. Downright rude. Self centered. Partial to black and grey garments. Stubborn and pig headed. Most of us carry briefcases. We are the only ones who know what pizza and bagels really taste like. Cocky. Stylish to a fault. Cold.
Beside the predisposition towards identifying the best bagels and pizza on earth, none of these descriptions are anything I’d care to be associated with. But in spite of it all, when I get asked where I’m from and “Manhattan” slips from my lips, nothing makes me prouder.
I love being a New Yorker. I love living in a place where dinosaur bones, priceless works of art, and high quality sushi are within walking distance of each other. No two streets smell the same (I’m talking hot dogs and roasting nuts here, friends, not unpleasant alternatives). Sometimes, the hum of the car horns and jackhammers is overcome by musicians and poets. The food here is, in a word, unbelievable. When timed correctly, I can get from one side of this island to the other in under 8 minutes. There are giant stone lions outside of our library. I can hear a slam poet, dine at an elegant restaurant, and see horses in a park all on the same night.
And above all, this city is filled with amazing, beautiful, loving, and simply kind people who too often go unnoticed among the trench coats and Blackberries. People who are doing considerate, thoughtful things for each other every day but still get stuck under the “heartless New York” umbrella just because they share a zip code with a few other city-dwellers who might better fit the aforementioned descriptions.
This is an attempt to break our bleak stereotype of chilly attitudes and frenzied habits. To report and recount acts of human kindness that warm up our concrete sidewalks, and to show that we New Yorkers not only have hearts, but that we possess ones for which the Tin Man would creak down on his knees and beg Oz. To prove that, if you bite down deep enough, and chew thoughtfully enough, you will find that this Big Apple really is sweet at the core…
