Danielle Ramos

I knew what I wanted, sort of

I always wanted to live in a skyscraper but the closest I got to it was working at the Empire State Building.

Growing up, I’d watch all the New York City movies of couples who had stunning Manhattan apartments, complete with a doorman and an elevator. I wanted that ever since I could remember. I had a love affair with the city decades before Carrie Bradshaw was even a distant concept.

As a young teen, I would hop on the F train and take a ride to Manhattan’s Greenwich Village from my Park Slope, Brooklyn home. This was before cell phones, train stop notifications, and quality-of-life crimes. When I went to the village (no native New Yorker uses the Greenwich part), I was truly on my own.

If I couldn’t convince a friend to take the ride with me, I’d go alone. Either way, my destination was always the same: the old-school record stores, like PosterMat and Tower Records. I had no money to buy anything but was happy just to look at the new albums, t-shirts, and posters.

Then I’d head to Washington Square Park. They were always performers by the fountain, no matter the day or time. Dancers, poets, singers, and magicians offering their talent for claps and coins.

One day I’d live there and take in all the buzzing creative energy daily.

That yearning to be in Manhattan was not for naught. I did eventually find a way to take in Manhattan’s energy almost every day by working in publishing. Besides the Empire State Building, I’ve had offices in Times Square, SoHo, and Chelsea.

But I never managed to live there. The rent was just too astronomical for me while raising a family so working there was my consolation.

We did the garden Brooklyn apartments until we could afford a house, but now on my own, I live in a building. Still not in Manhattan, but it is an easy 45-minute train ride to the city.

Surprising Aspects of Building Life

There are a few things about living in a building that I like. It’s not the elevator or the doorman (which I don’t have).

However, I’m often woken up by the chirps, cackles, and squeaks of starlings, sparrows, and crows. At the end of the day, when I look out the window as the sun settles, I see the most beautiful golden view. Sometimes it’s pink like cotton candy, blue like my turquoise Crayola, or a brazen red summer sun. No matter the color, it’s always stunning.

Another thing I quite enjoy is the ability to look over the bustling street and see people walking their dogs, grabbing Sunday brunch, or opening their businesses. On select summer evenings, I see the street parties, hear the DJ spinning tunes, and enjoy concerts from my balcony while I tend to my chrysanthemums.

What I love the most is seeing the clouds form skyline paintings. I feel Mom in them. I see my soul dog, Django, my best friend who crossed over. In those moments, my worry turns into quiet connectedness with the earth and within myself.

Maybe that’s another reason why I’ve always known I wanted to live in an apartment but I never really knew why. I just knew I was drawn to it.

I heard a manifestation expert say to go to what excites you, it doesn’t have to make sense and you don’t have to know the outcome. I am seeing how this principle has played out in my life many times.

The problem with most of us is that as you grow up, you stop doing things that come naturally and focus on outcomes. So I am actively trying to unlearn that muscle memory now and go back to my 14-year-old self who felt an urge to visit a place, absorb the energy of a space, and dream that I could do whatever I wanted.

If we’re lucky, maybe we eventually reach a point in our lives where we dig deep, try to figure out who we really are now, and reconnect with our true selves. After careers are established, children are raised, and homes are bought, the chaotic whirlwind of life begins to settle. It’s in these quiet moments that we can revisit that innocent part of ourselves — the one who loved painting, writing, running, singing — and allow her to play again.

It doesn’t have to be for any specific reason, and it doesn’t need a set goal. Sometimes, it’s simply about picking up that guitar, squeezing out colors from acrylics, or wrapping yarn around our fingers for the sheer delight of it all.

Other times, it’s about hopping on the subway, immersing ourselves in the vibrant energy of the city that once felt like a distant dream. Because sometimes, going back to what once lit us up is all it takes to feel like ourselves again.