The Key That Opens Many Doors

Here's my New Yorker resume:

I was born in Long Island Jewish Hospital in 1974. I grew up in Queens, and spent every Sunday of my early childhood in Greenwich Village at my grandparents' apartment. When I was 18 years old, I moved into the Hunter College dorm at 25th street and 1st avenue in Manhattan. I lived in the same dorm room for five years. After that, I moved in with some friends who were living in an apartment in Greenpoint, Brooklyn. When the landlord raised our rent, we moved to Astoria, Queens. It was from there that I moved to Los Angeles. 

I lived in New York for a total of 26 years. I've lived in Los Angeles since 2000, but even if I spend the next quarter of a century right here in L.A., I'll always have "New Yorker" as part of my identity. Growing up there--like growing up anywhere--leaves marks on you. It's just that there's a sort of universal definition of "New Yorker." There's not a universal definition for being a native Cincinnatian, so even though being from Cincinnati might be part of someone's identity, what that means may not be obvious to the rest of the world.

But everybody knows that being a New Yorker means being tough and streetwise. It means having an accent wherein one pronounces the word coffee "kawwfee." It means being loud and outgoing. It means being the type of person who does not suffer fools gladly, or, in the local parlance, "ya don't take crap from nobody." When folks from all over the world find out you're from New York, they make a number of assumptions about you. These may or may not be true, but a New Yorker can take pleasure in either fulfilling people's expectations or subverting them.

Another interesting part of the New Yorker effect is this: many non-native New Yorkers have lived there at some point in their lives. These people often look back on their time in New York as one of the most enjoyable times of their lives, and they will instantly start reminiscing about old hang-outs or quintessential New York moments. I can make a friend really fast with a person who loved eating Ess-A Bagels when they lived near Peter Cooper Village. ("Really? Me too! I used to stand on that long line--remember that ridiculous line?--on Sunday mornings and get a bagel with butter and eat it in the park!")

I've met two people in the last couple of weeks who lived in the same part of Brooklyn as I did, and both times it automatically built a rapport. Today, I had kawfee, I mean coffee, with an old high school friend who said that a property manager showed her the "good apartment" once she found out my friend used to live in Bay Ridge. Job interviewers will go off on joyful tangents when they see your educational background includes a stint in the Big Apple. Here in L.A., die-hard east coasters will assume that New Yorkers are somehow more "real" than our Angelino peers. (I've met plenty of "real" Angelinos, by the way.) Folks are dying to know if you really believe that New York pizza kicks every other pizza's ass.

The New Yorker effect is a wonderful thing. It's like the key that opens many doors. For my friend, the mere mention of Brooklyn was literally the key that opened the door to the "good apartment." Knowing New York is an advantage in business. It's a brilliant ice-breaker at parties. But more than that, it's common ground. People who are from there, and those who have lived there even for a little while, hold New York in their hearts. Knowing that your heart includes New York, and my heart includes New York means that our hearts have something in common. Isn't that the definition of a friend?