if you can make it there you can make it anywhere

Sara Yuan

Art by Jasmine Nguyen

New York City is a hub of hustle and bustle. An urban jungle glowing with the promise of opportunity and fulfillment. Walking down the sidewalk can feel like an Olympic sport in Manhattan, a real-life game of Crossy Road, dodging bikes, dogs, runners, and people rushing somewhere to do something. Heads down, headphones on, long strides, no one can stop a New Yorker from getting to their destination. When you let yourself be swept into the glorious tornado that is this crazy city, your life can blossom in ways you never anticipated. But there is a flipside to every coin. It's not uncommon to reach a point when the vibrant pandemonium of the city turns into overstimulating noise, and the grindset that once felt motivating starts to feel depleting.

Being in your twenties in NYC is something that’s glamorized and fantasized about, the struggle of surviving this era romanticized. But as a 22-year-old raised in New York and a soon-to-be graduate about to enter the so-called rat race, I find myself increasingly detached from the glorification of what it means to “make it” here. Growing up, I always placed a huge emphasis on achievement. Whether in school or my personal life, my perfectionist tendencies led me to squeeze the most out of every opportunity that came my way. The internal pressure I placed on myself to excel in everything followed me from high school to college. When I started college at Pratt Institute, I entered the tornado of this city and school at full speed. I said yes to everything, immersing myself in the chaos, letting myself be swept up in all the opportunity, stimulation, and energy it had to offer. And although this all-in attitude brought me many wonderful things like good grades and busy weekends full of great memories, there came a time when I needed to slow down and make space to deal with the changes life was throwing at me and the whirlwind that came with adulthood.

I found myself unable to separate the city’s relentless pace from my own internal rhythm. The noise and constant distractions became a way to avoid the silence I so desperately needed. I often felt like a puppet moving through a fast-paced lifestyle I once identified with so deeply. I became more and more burnt out, disconnected from my creative practices, and felt less present in my own body. I started to blame New York for this feeling of overwhelm. Stepping into the street when I just wanted some air only offered a symphony of sirens and strangers. Everywhere I looked, I saw people buried in their phones, isolated by their headphones, rushing everywhere at the speed of light. I needed to make space for myself and couldn’t find any.

In my last semester at Pratt, I had the opportunity to go back to Rio de Janeiro—the beautiful city where I was born and lived until the age of four, before moving to New York. Growing up, I would go back to Rio for the summers year after year, until life started becoming busy and plane tickets became more and more expensive. Being there for the first time in four years was absolutely euphoric. There is a part of me that only comes out in the Rio sun, a version of myself that is carefree and grounded. It felt like I had rewired my brain and snapped out of the sleepwalking haze I had been under for quite a while. It was like entering a new dimension where time moves slower, and people move with it. The first day I was there, I bumped into almost everyone in front of me, rushing from place to place, trying not to waste a second. After the fifth apology I muttered, I finally began to slow down. And what I experienced was true presence- a silent mind that could meet each moment as it came, and a smile on my face without even realizing it was there.

Being in Rio reminded me of a version of myself that existed before the hustle and bustle, a younger self that knew how to simply be. There, I saw a way of living that wasn’t dictated by urgency or optimization. People did things simply for the joy of doing them. I didn’t return to New York with resentment in my heart, but with a refreshed perspective. A new understanding of how to face the storm without getting swept away. That slowing down isn’t the opposite of ambition, it’s what gives it meaning. And that in a city that never stops moving, the most radical thing you can do is pause, listen, and choose to move at your own rhythm. Now, with graduation around the corner, I appreciate the ways in which New York has pushed me to realize the importance of prioritizing my relationship with myself, and through this year I truly feel my understanding for myself deepening and I know it will continue to do so.