Noise
When I moved to New York, noise was not on my radar. I knew my apartment was small and lacked some amenities, but I was more focused on the abundance of natural light, my wonderful neighborhood, and two roommates who welcomed me in. I didn’t realize how poor the insulation of my building was and that this third-floor apartment, despite being on a generally quiet street, was actually at a corner with a busier one-way and a traffic light in the middle. You can hear everything going by – the revving of motorcycle engines, the cheery tune of the ice cream truck (not so cheery anymore), construction drilling into the ground, fire truck sirens, trash trucks collecting, car honks, airplanes flying overhead. Yells, laughs, dog barks. Music blasting out of cars that makes the walls shake.
I am and have always been a very perceptive, sensitive person who absorbs a lot. I notice the facial expressions of strangers passing by, I feel the person standing behind me in line, I smell every waft oozing out of a restaurant. I plug my ears when a fire truck goes by. But now, as noise has come into my home, my relationship to it has completely changed. When I hear these sounds, especially after a long day in a bustling place, or first thing in the morning when I wake up, my chest tightens and I feel on edge. I feel my privacy and peace invaded. Sometimes this feeling grows and I get restless, feeling like I can’t find quiet or anywhere to escape.
I got curious about noise pollution and did some reading. According to a 2021 APHA study, noise is considered a public health hazard that affects more than 100,000 Americans and overtime can affect our health. Although noise comes in through our ears, it quickly reaches the amygdala, our fear center. Too much activation to the amygdala can make systems in the body overreact, including the nervous system (rising heart rate and blood pressure) and the endocrine system (too much cortisol and adrenaline), and even damage to the arteries overtime, which increases risk of strokes, heart diseases, and heart attacks. Noise can also cause sleep disruption, and interfere with productivity, cognition and learning. Despite the maximum average levels of sound that the World Health Organization advises we hear – between 45-52 decibels (dB) – more than 3 million Americans live with outside noise above 70dB. And, dB levels don’t even compare to how loud a sound can be to the ear, which can be much more intense. (Baumgartener et al, 2023)
It could be worse. I could be living next to a subway or the Brooklyn Queens Expressway or near a stadium with concerts every weekend. It's not constant, and there are certainly breaks. And sure, cities are loud. But I’ve realized that for many, what makes living in them manageable is coming home to a place that removes you, to some degree, from the outside noise. When I’ve left the city to visit friends or family, I feel the difference. Peace and quiet feel like a luxury.
The past few months have been hard. Amidst the whirlwind around me I’ve struggled to feel like myself. I have felt like a wandering ghost, like a lost child waiting for someone to find me. I don’t know what I imagined this first year to be like, but nothing could have prepared me for all it would bring. The instability, as I try to pursue a freelance film career that I am still finding my place in, one that has produced several changes of jobs, and does not always guarantee a regular place to work from or people to work with. The ugliness – pollution on the streets and in the air, witnessing all kinds of suffering right in front of my eyes. The rejection. The deep homesickness. And some of the most acute loneliness I have ever known.
As I trudged through March and April and into May, I continued to ask myself why life still felt so hard despite my hearty efforts to walk outside each and every day and put myself out there, acclimate, try new things, meet new people – do all the things I was so excited to do when I came. I felt smushed, sorry for myself. Eventually I didn’t feel strong enough to face the world outside my door. And it was really fucking loud. I couldn’t think. I just want to go home, I wrote. So I did.
I went home. I cried a lot. I let my parents take care of me. I played the piano – loud. I took a long shower. I went to the dentist. I drove. I breathed in clean air. I stood in the front yard and listened to all the birdsongs I could hear. I did not want to come back.
When it was time, I packed up a car full of things that felt like home – my bike, guitar, an old stuffed animal, old photos, a tablecloth, and my mom and I drove across the state of Pennsylvania. Forests of green whirled by and the songs of Tracy Chapman and Bruce Springsteen and Neil Young and Carole King propelled us onward. I took myself from home to the new place that eight months ago I had been plopped in, out of a plane hatch. I saw everything in between – Oberlin, glittering lakes and sturdy forests, tiny towns with pubs and Holiday Inns, the Delaware Water Gap. Through the Holland Tunnel, over the Manhattan bridge and I realized how I got here. I started in one place and then I left that place, passed other places and arrived in this place. It made more sense.
My mom and I talked about life with a perspective so vast and truthful. I was reminded of how much I can expand and how much space I can traverse. I questioned my life, what I’ve done and haven’t. I attempted to exchange regret for mindful reflection. I held my mom’s hand. I asked her about parts of myself I don’t understand. She said everything I needed to hear. I felt a wholeness and knowing that I haven’t been able to locate for some time.
I’ve felt, and still continue to feel, a large wave of grief for what I left to come here – a community that cushioned me through my young years, my parents, midwestern friendliness and pace and pine trees and stillness and life feeling simple – all the meanings of home that I have known. I have feared losing myself and my values in the New Yorkness I am trying to assimilate to, in just trying to keep up and be fast enough, smart enough, focused enough, social enough, (etc, etc). I have felt guilty that for so long I couldn’t wait to be here and now that I am, I feel unsure if it is for me.
But home looks a little different now, and that’s okay. As I build it, I’m trying to give myself grace. New York seems to take much longer than some places to adjust to. For many, once a few years pass, they can’t imagine living anywhere else. Will that be me? I don’t know. I do believe things will get better and I’m not giving up on New York just yet. I’ve just turned the corner of the past few months and am seeing some light – my new living situation (more below), exciting film related opportunities and connections, and more familiarity with and ease moving around the city. When I get overwhelmed or feel lost I try to remind myself of these things:
I can put less pressure on this place – on it being for me forever, on liking everything about it. I am giving it a try. I am 25.
Quiet, space, and stillness can be found. I can find it at the yoga studio a short walk away, in the long meadows of Prospect Park where you can’t see any buildings. It looks different here – and especially given my living situation, it requires more effort. But I can find and create it for myself and reap the benefits.
Here, where there are unfamiliar and hard things, there are also things that weren’t back home. Hearing five languages in a day. Tasting delicious Nigerian soups that open my palette. Coexistence with people and cultures and life of all forms. Living a 10 minute walk from my brother, a 10 minute bike ride from my friend of over a decade. All the music, film, and theater I could want to see. And the New Yorker spirit and rhythm that I am learning to appreciate – a subtleness to care that’s sometimes shown through fewer, more direct words than I’m used to, but one that’s genuine and true.
My therapist and I have been talking a lot about my relationship to the past. I’m learning that to fully enjoy the present moment and take advantage of all it has to offer, I have to loosen my grasp on what was, and try to surrender to where I am now. I can trust that where I’m from, where I’ve been, and the people that were there are always a part of me. And I can allow the past, alongside myself, to transform.
A few other updates, if you’re curious.
~Work~
I started a new job doing archival research for a feature documentary. Unfortunately I can’t share much about it yet but it’s an exciting project. The feature film is a story about one man’s life told entirely through archival material – letters, books, photos, videos and newspaper articles. It’s been a great learning experience and has shown me the ins and outs of archival producing, a role within documentary I’ve wanted to dive my feet into for some time now.
Every day looks different – sometimes I transcribe letters from the 1950s, sometimes I scour the internet for specific images the editors are needing (NYC nightlife in the 1930s, for example) and sometimes, I get to go into the real, physical archives at the New York Public Library. This is a magical place called The Brooke Russell Astor Reading Room for Rare Books and Manuscript. To get there I go into the main branch of the NYPL, through metal detectors and coat check and swaths of tourists, up two marble flights of stairs, and down the long aisle of the glorious Rose Reading Room.
The Astor Room is small, perimetered by an elevated case of books and old treasures. You have to make an appointment, and the only things you can bring inside are a laptop, phone, and a pencil. The kind and helpful staff retrieve the boxes you want and then at your leisure you can look through what you need, being sure to keep the items flat on the table, sometimes wearing gloves to protect the material. Sitting at the dozen desks around you are people looking through old things. Some people are reading Joan Didion’s letters. One guy was looking at the history of the New York Fair. I love being there, and inside I feel completely tucked away from the city.
~Activities~
A few months ago I joined a choir. It’s called The Brooklyn Conservatory Chorale, a 50-person based out of The Brooklyn Conservatory of Music – a wonderful organization based in Park Slope. We recently had our final concert of the year where we sang Bruckner’s Mass in E minor, an epic choral piece with 6 movements. If you’d like to watch, the concert was recorded and can be watched here. My favorite two movements are the sweeping third, Credo (25:07) and the triumphant sixth and last, Agnus Dei (43:57).
I also started a new volunteer program called Friendly Visiting, where I was matched with an elderly Brooklyn resident to have weekly meet-ups. Every Sunday afternoon, I visit my friend Dorothy in her home and we chat. She grew up in the Deep South and came to New York City when she was just 20 years old. She’s now 83 and has lived in Brooklyn for many years. I love hearing about her life. I treasure her perspective, her deep attentiveness and wisdom.
I started biking, and haven’t stopped! It has been a gamechanger for getting around Brooklyn with more ease. It’s also helped me tremendously in geographically orienting myself and lets me be on my own time. Don’t worry, I’m extremely careful and spatially aware, and always wear a helmet.
~Living quarters~
I’ve had some changes with my apartment as well, as my two lovely former roommates decided to move on and get their own place. After some deliberation, I decided to stay in my current place and find new roommates myself. The process was crazy but somehow I lucked out and found Natalie and Maegan who have been wonderful. I switched rooms to have a bit more space, an extra window, and a bigger closet. Since the apartment was mostly filled with my old roommates’ furniture, we had a clean slate to build from, which has been fun! Got to check “carry a couch through the streets of New York” off my bucket list. I feel indebted to this couch for life now.
The process of re-setting the space has also brought me a newfound agency and comfort in my home. Getting to choose where things hang, what cabinets the glasses go in, where my items sit in the shower, etc. It feels really good. I’m excited to continue bringing it to life – New York friends, stay tuned for a housewarming party this fall!
As always, thank you for reading. If something resonated, I’d love to hear from you.
Take care,
A Growing Rose
So much to adjust to, Isabel! And NYC is such a contrast to A2. I'm glad to read that you have found refuge both in some perspective shifting and also in such a beautiful place like the Rose Room! ❤️