8 Miles in NYC
/By Kelsie Wilkins, produced by Out There Podcast
Released on January 13, 2021
Welcome to Out There Podcast. Our stories are written for the ear, so for those able, we recommend listening while reading along. Transcripts may contain minor errors; please check the audio before quoting.
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(Out There theme music starts)
WILLOW: Hi, I’m Willow Belden, and you’re listening to Out There, the podcast that explores big questions through intimate stories outdoors.
Today’s episode is about what happens when you’re suddenly thrust into a new environment. A new environment that’s intense and overwhelming. An environment that makes you feel lost...alone...insignificant.
I think a lot of us have felt this at one point or another. Leaving behind your home and moving to a new place can be a humbling experience.
So, how do you navigate that? How do you feel seen? How do you start to belong?
(theme music comes to an end)
For Kelsie Wilkins, the key to landing on her feet in her new home turned out to be quite unexpected. It wasn’t about going out for drinks with coworkers, or signing up for a pottery class, or joining a book club. No, for Kelsie learning to belong was something that happened out in the streets. And it happened kind of by accident.
I’ll let Kelsie take it from here.
KELSIE WILKINS: Moving to New York City was undoubtedly the most challenging thing I’ve ever done in my 23 years of life.
(modern music starts)
I was fresh out of undergrad — a 21-year-old woman with a spring in my step and a futuristic mindset. I was moving to the city that Alicia Keys called “the concrete jungle where dreams are made of.”
I was excited to start grad school in a city that was so eclectic and full of life. But my dad warned me it might not be everything I imagined. He told me I couldn’t “bop around New York City” the way I did the University of Missouri. He said I had to be vigilant and watch my back.
(music fades out)
As soon as I got to New York, I realized he was right. For the past four years of my life, I had been considered a big fish in a medium sized pond. Now, I was a crumb-sized dust particle in a sea of craziness. I went from knowing everyone to knowing no one — from feeling safe and self-assured, to feeling vulnerable — all of the time.
New York is a fascinating ecosystem. On my commute to and from school, I was among millions of people on the subway, everyday. I had never been around so many people before, ever in my life. Yet, somehow, I felt a lingering sense of isolation. I felt so alone in the crowd.
Not to mention, Manhattan felt like one big hazard. Everything seemed dangerous and everyone seemed too preoccupied with their own business to care about anyone else. I was always on guard. I began to build a barrier — in efforts to fit in to what I perceived to be the culture, but mostly for my own protection.
I couldn’t tell how people actually were happy living in a place that made me feel so small, insignificant and quite frankly, invisible.
(quiet music begins)
In an odd way, I felt like my identity no longer made me stand out like it used to in Missouri. Being Black on my college campus definitely garnered attention, both positive and negative, but at least my presence was acknowledged. On the other hand, New York City is the epitome of diversity. While this was something that I had looked forward to prior to moving, the reality was disillusioning.
At the grocery store in my neighborhood in Harlem, I was routinely mistaken for being Hispanic. At first I was surprised. But then I caught a glimpse of myself in the reflection of the grocery store window. I could see how I pass for Afro-Latina. I found nothing wrong with the mistake, I’m just not Hispanic, and embarrassingly, my five years of Spanish classes never really stuck. Instead of fitting in, I felt like an outsider.
(music fades out)
One afternoon, an older Latino gentleman who lived in my building followed me onto our elevator and said “Cuatro, por favor.” After I pressed the button for the fourth floor, he looked at me, smiled, and proceeded to ask how I was doing, in Spanish.
I was pleasantly surprised by the fact that he wanted to talk to me. I held my own for approximately 15 seconds, and then I was lost. I’d like to think he was telling me about his day, but I’m unsure.
My face must have displayed my confusion, because I distinctly remember the gentleman paused and smirked. Then he started muttering to himself, “Young people these days...my grandson doesn’t speak much Spanish either.” He made sure to mutter THAT part in English.
(robust music begins)
As I grappled with the presentation of my identity and the space I take up in this new city, I also struggled to keep up with simply functioning. What used to take me minutes to complete, took me hours in this new environment. At the University of Missouri, I was a hop, skip and a jump away from everything: my classes, my food and my friends.
But in New York, I had an hour-long commute to school. My mornings consisted of me packing two bags, one for my books and one for my meals — lunch and dinner. Since I worked on campus, I would be there anywhere from 10 to 12 hours. My night courses often went until 10 pm. When I would finally get back to my apartment, I’d plop down on my bed, breathe a loud sigh of exhaustion, and mentally prepare myself to do it all over again the next morning.
It would be an understatement to say I was overwhelmed.
(music ends)
But finally, I made a decision that changed my outlook. It wasn’t planned. In fact, it came about sort of by accident. But it turned out to be one of the best things I could have done for myself.
(music begins)
I was about a month into the school year, and I was feeling sluggish. I was spent from my course work and I hadn’t exercised in what felt like ages. While some of this was due to my hectic schedule, much of it also had to do with the brutal summer heat. The weather was stifling, and I didn’t have the money for a gym membership.
Then one evening, I was talking to my roommates. We were discussing how walkable the city was. Manhattan is on a grid, so it’s easy to navigate. And my mind started to wander: Could I walk to campus, instead of taking the subway?
Then I looked closer. According to Google maps, it would be an eight mile walk. Eight miles is a lot. And eight miles on pavement in America’s most crowded city is really a lot.
But I was curious. I had heard about the importance of walking 10,000 steps a day. So I Googled how many miles 10,000 steps actually is: five miles.
Five miles?! I wasn’t even walking a quarter of that from my daily routine.
That harsh reality led me to open another Google tab and search the health benefits of walking. As someone who considers herself to be somewhat health conscious, I realized quickly that I was on a path that was not sustainable for my physical or mental health.
This brought me back to Google maps. After a few hours of contemplation, I decided to try it out. I was going to walk to work the next day.
I didn’t have to arrive to work until 10 am. In an effort to give myself ample time, I was out of my apartment and on my feet heading south by 7 o’clock.
It was a beautiful morning. I remember the sun was shining brightly and it was a pretty warm day for the middle of September. Much of the city I had yet to explore, so I was truly putting faith in my phone battery and the previous night’s conversation about the city grid.
The first mile went smoothly. But then, as I was exiting my neighborhood in Harlem, I hit a construction zone.
(music ends)
Anyone who has lived or stepped foot in New York City knows that there is construction happening somewhere at all times.
In this case, the street was torn up, and the sidewalk abruptly stopped at a door. I couldn’t quite tell if that door was made for pedestrians, or the contractors on the job.
I decided not to risk going somewhere I wasn’t supposed to. But I also didn’t want to add travel time by taking a detour around the block. So I stuck to the street. I figured the likelihood of anyone working that early in the morning was slim. I could not have been more incorrect.
(construction noises begin)
About 40 steps into the street, I realized I had walked into a full-on construction zone — men in hard hats and neon yellow vests. One man was hopping into one of those trucks with the claw arm getting ready to continue ripping up the street, or anything else in its path.
I haphazardly trotted through the zone, in my K-Swiss sneakers and gray pencil skirt — dodging cones and unintentionally kicking up dust and gravel. Then I heard someone call out to me. It was one of the construction workers.
He yelled over the noise of the loud street, “Hey! Hey, boss lady!”
I was startled. It felt like a drummer was in my chest, banging on my heart.
My mind jumped to some advice my cousin gave me. He told me, “When strangers approach you, it’s best to not make eye contact and mind your business.”
But, the construction worker was not making that easy!
He yelled again, “Excuse me, ma’am! Boss lady! There was a door back there. It led to a sidewalk!”
I froze. I turned and looked at him apologetically. It was humiliating. Here I was thinking I was experiencing street harassment — when in actuality, the man was only trying to help me out.
As I began to pivot to head back toward the entrance, he stopped me.
He shouted, “I mean you’re in here now, might as well keep on coming.”
He signaled for his team to pause their drilling for a few moments to allow me to pass through the rest of the work zone.
(construction noises end and upbeat music begins)
I attempted to calm my nerves. I was embarrassed about exposing myself as a non-New York City dweller — but at the same time, I couldn’t deny the fact that a small part of me was grinning on the inside. It felt good to be noticed. And not just noticed, but addressed in a friendly sort of way.
I also cannot deny that the boss lady title felt pretty cool too.
Two hours later, I arrived on campus, with plenty of time to freshen up before I had to start work.
After completing that first walk in September, I felt untouchable. I distinctly remember walking into a bathroom at work, looking at myself in the mirror and saying, “Kels, you did that!” and then calling my mom to share my excitement.
I also remember being drenched in sweat and feeling a tad bit disgusting. Spending two hours in the hot New York City summer air makes you smell a little bit like the hot New York City summer air. But at that moment, I didn’t care.
The walk had given me a thrill I had yet to experience in the city. The shocked looks on my roommates' faces were priceless when I told them later that night that I had done it. I had actually walked from my apartment on 140th Street to the New School campus on 12th Street. I was hyped.
Later that week, I eagerly called my uncle, who lives down in Texas. He walks religiously 10 miles a day — literally 10 miles — five days a week, year round. While I knew my eight-mile stretch was measly to his normal 50 miles per week, he was impressed. I got ahead of myself and challenged him to an Under Armor MapMyWalk challenge. We gave ourselves a month to see who could walk the furthest.
(music grows louder and then fades out)
WILLOW: Hey, it’s Willow. We’ll hear the rest of Kelsie’s story in a moment. But first…
If you have children, chances are it’s hard to tear them away from screens and get them outside. That was certainly true for Justin Wren, which is why he started a company called Think Outside Boxes.
Think Outside is one of our sponsors for this episode. They make subscription boxes for kids, focused on outdoor exploration. Each box is filled with gear and educational information to encourage kids to get outside and play.
Justin says he’s seen a change in his own kids since they started spending more time outside a few years ago. The kids now ask to go on longer hikes. They’re excited to help out with bonfires and camp cooking. And they seem to be benefitting in other ways too.
JUSTIN WREN: When they come up against a challenge, you see a different approach to accomplishing that challenge or achieving the goal that they’ve set for themselves.
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And now, back to Kelsie’s story.
KELSIE: In the following months, my walk to work became a part of my routine. I did the eight-mile trek almost every day. And the parts of the city that I passed through became familiar.
(music begins)
One of my favorite stretches was the 51 blocks along the west side of Central Park. This was an incredibly affluent area of Manhattan, also known as the Upper West Side.
I was shocked when I passed by the entrances of the residential buildings across from the park, but not because of the lavish architecture. I was taken aback by the doormen.
As unconventional as it may sound, I found a lot of joy walking past the doormen posted outside of the complexes. Up until moving to New York, I spent my entire life in the Midwest. Not all Midwesterners are nice and kind, but there is a sense of friendliness on the street that I felt was lacking in the Big Apple, until I crossed the path of these doormen.
Many would not only respond to me when I greeted them with a grin, they initiated the communication with a neighborly “Hello,” “Good morning,” or “How are you?”
As comical as this may seem, it comforted me. It reminded me of home and resembled an inkling of a sense of community.
(music ends and bustling city sounds begin)
The last three miles of my walk took me through the beast that is Midtown. You leave Central Park behind and stare up at a highly compact group of skyscrapers, carrying on for miles, with hundreds of thousands of people scrambling beneath them, in the height of morning rush hour.
(car horns beeping)
Midtown is the definition of hustle and bustle. I discovered hiking through this part of the city meant dodging food vendors and swerving through taxi-filled streets. Not to mention it felt like I had to speed walk just to keep from being trampled by the mob of people heading to their various destinations.
In this three mile stretch, I would pass places like Radio City Music Hall, Madison Square Garden and of course Times Square. But even this disorganized part of the city sometimes surprised me, in a good way.
(sirens and traffic noises)
One morning in October, I was swept up in a crowd on Broadway heading toward Times Square. Upon arrival, I was bombarded with sensory overload. The square was packed with hundreds of people. Bullhorns were blaring, folks were shouting in the streets, police were everywhere, and there were flashing lights coming from fire engines.
I was dazed. I couldn’t tell if I wanted to stay and see what all of the commotion was about, or run and hide.
(music begins)
But then I remembered one of my cousins worked near Times Square. While I had no clue where her office building was located, I figured she might have an idea of what was going on. I quickly texted her to ask.
She wrote back right away, and said this was something called Extinction Rebellion — an environmental protest.
As I snapped a photo and sent it to her, she too sent me a photo from her vantage point in her office building.
I took a few steps as I examined her photo, and then stopped dead in my tracks. I quickly texted her back, “Oh my gosh!”
At that same moment, I received a text from her, “Oh my God!”
My head shot up as I began scanning the skyscrapers, foolishly thinking I could see her through the tinted windows — not to mention narrow down the building, which floor and which window she was peering out of.
I frantically waved, arms stretched high above my head.
She texted again, “Are you in pink?”
“YES!” I responded in all caps.
She sent an updated photo...except this photo included me! It captured what I looked like from 17 stories up.
“I see you!” she responded.
Moments like that made me feel good, really good. In a city of eight million people, I finally felt seen. I felt seen by the construction workers and the doormen. And even in the middle of a protest in Times Square, I was no longer invisible. These were the moments that made the city feel smaller — more manageable. Like I wasn’t so alone after all.
(music fades out)
At the end of my first month of walking, my uncle and I tallied up our mileage. Our challenge didn’t end well for me; I finished with 101 miles, while he had 208.
But I did achieve something else. I gained a new perspective on my situation and began to look at it as more of an opportunity. I realized that while New York City is full of danger and chaos, it has forced the community to have grit — and now, I was a part of all of that. I had grit, too.
(piano music begins)
I felt a sense of belonging, knowing that I was among the millions of people grinding it out to meet their expectations and the bar they set for themselves.
I’d be lying if I said that these long walks cured me of all my anxiety and discomfort. They did not, but the walks were something I needed. They forced me out of my comfort zone — and off the subway. They pushed me out into my new world and got me engaging with people. I began to chip away at the wall I had constructed for self-preservation.
I befriended people at work and got more involved in my academic program. I started to feel present in the city. I took back control of my visibility. And most importantly, I started to see myself as a member of this extraordinary community.
(music grows louder and then softens)
WILLOW: That was Kelsie Wilkins. She’s a graduate student at the New School, working toward a master’s degree in Nonprofit Management.
If you enjoyed this story, check out an episode we ran back in 2019 called “Before It’s Too Late”. It has a very different focus from this story — it’s about trying to reconnect with your ancestors’ traditions — but it’s similar in that it explores how human connection, and a sense of belonging, can come about in the most unexpected ways. Again, that episode is called “Before It’s Too Late”. I’ve got a link to it in the show notes if you want to check it out.
(music ends)
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(Out There theme music begins)
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(Out There theme music ends on a whistle)
