So this afternoon I walked by my old apartment building in Murray Hill. This rarely happens as I have a few friends left in that neighborhood, but today I stopped on my old corner, which used to be a vacant lot (extremely rare in NYC) and is now a bustling Frat-ish sports bar and looked up at my old building. I lived on the 26th floor with an amazing view. It was the first year after college and all I wanted to do was have fun. I lived with two of my best friends in an overpriced apartment with tons of room to entertain…
…and entertain we did. Come Friday evening (sometimes even Thursday evenings) our apartment would be filled with at least 20 of our closest friends. We played loud music. We laughed. We danced. We cried. We fought. A lot. 26J was reminiscent of a youth hostel. It was a short-lived, fast-paced, blast.
I left that apartment almost four years. I moved uptown and attempted to grow up a bit. For some reason today my eyes filled with tears as I looked up at the place I used to call home. So much has changed. I miss the days of running around town like a bat out of hell. In and out of cabs, in and out of bars, late into the night.
Don’t get me wrong, living with two other women was not easy. We had some trying times, but we all managed to make it out alive. I’ll always look back on that year as my “wild year.” I’ll never forget it.