Expecting The Unexpected
birthdays, new york, and letting go (sort of)
You know when you’re inside of a core memory as it’s happening and are aware that you can’t slow it down so you try to do everything possible to be present and soak it up, but it’s never enough? That was this past weekend celebrating my 35th in one of my favorite cities on Earth and I’m still replaying it, trying to hold on just a little longer.
When I was little, I wanted nothing more than a summer birthday. And although my mom was the *queen* of fun and creative parties, none of them included marco polo and that felt deeply unfair (outside of the one time we did go to an indoor water park hotel because like I said, pools > everything else).
I always find it interesting how people feel about birthdays since it seems to vary SO much. In my opinion, it’s directly correlated to your upbringing and how it was celebrated (or not) in your home; maybe that can shift over time, but it seems to really set the tone. I have memories of waking up with balloons in my bed, confetti trails from my door to the breakfast table, where a birthday hat / pins / streamers / you name it would be waiting. At 16, my mom surprised me with a day trip to NYC (my first) with 3 of my best friends (back when flights were dirt cheap). I organized a cruise with my closest friends (not without parental supervision) and parasailed in Jamaica for my 19th. When the big 2-1 came around, I knew the cake had to be good. I sketched out the 3-tier design on paper, SCANNED to my computer and emailed it to a local baker who delivered it the day of my party, where I wrote her a check (Gen Z could never). This was before boutique bakeries were a thing and fondant was the main medium. I’m well aware of how lucky + privileged these experiences were.
But it seems that as we age (and especially after the milestone of 21), these sort of celebrations start to feel over the top. A bit too self-indulgent. Childish, even. There’s this apathetic attitude that sinks in and starts to become the norm. The “It’s just another day, don’t worry about me” way of thinking. I get it…kind of. But here’s my truest feeling: it’s one day of the year. Twenty-four hours that we get to celebrate being alive for another trip around the sun. And it’s not about extravagance or spending a lot of money— it could literally be surprising a friend with flowers. Birthdays have just simply always felt so magical to me, like anything could happen on that day. Will there be a delivery? An unexpected phone call? An out-of-town friend waiting at dinner? The possibilities are endless. It goes without saying that I’ve carried this into adulthood and consider surprises to be a love language (giving being even more thrilling than receiving, actually).
The thing is, as you can imagine, expecting the unexpected can often lead to disappointment (and sort of defeats the purpose?). Throughout my 20’s, I’d sometimes find myself bummed when the parties weren’t as prevalent, the schedules of friends a bit busier, and birthdays a little simpler. What’s worse, most times I didn’t even consciously know I was setting expectations, until I would ultimately feel sad. And then feel shame for feeling sad / sorry for myself. I’ll never forget the first year my boyfriend, Michael, and I were dating. He was going to WORK on my birthday. FOR EIGHT WHOLE HOURS. That’s like most of our waking (read: celebrating) time! The nerve.
What I’m settling into in my mid-thirties, and what I’m sure simply comes with getting older and more perspective, is that while it’s nice to be celebrated by others— it’s actually up to us to cultivate that feeling for ourselves. Or at the very least, be vocal about what we want to experience. I’ve never shied away from planning my own party or making the dinner reservation (I am a Capricorn after all), but I now recognize that a lot of my expectations would center around my partner at that time. I would want them to surprise me with the exact plans I was hoping for, without me actually saying any of it out loud. Aka- I wanted them to read my mind. Understandable, you know???? The ironic part is, being single on a birthday actually came with zero expectation and therefore sometimes an even more enjoyable time. Shocker!
I’m now trying to find a middle ground. I don’t want to lose the child-like wonder and excitement that comes with a birthday (for me, at least). But I’m definitely not expecting anyone to read my mind or coordinate a parade in front of our house. So as my 35th birthday approached, I starting thinking about how I wanted to experience it (vs. waiting to see how it unfolded and potentially ending up disappointed). Last year I was sick and didn’t leave my bed, and this year felt like a big deal. Something that required more than a dinner down the street. So I asked myself, “Where do I want to be on my 35th?”. It’s been a somewhat weird year for me, with some mild mid-life-crisis / what is life vibes; so with the fog lifted and anxiety lessened, I wanted to be intentional about how to start this new year. Without pause, the answer was clear: New York City.
Rumor has it I’ve been saying I wanted to move to NYC since the age of 8, which is ironic because my anxiety would have me looking for my dad in a panic when he went to the mailbox. Flash forward to 13, I have a full floor-to-ceiling mural along one wall of my bedroom showcasing the NYC skyline at night (#chic). As mentioned, I finally got to see the big apple IRL for my 16th birthday. The hot spots were hit. Pictures with the naked cowboy were taken. You know the drill. It was exhilarating and completely solidified this dream of mine. Flash forward to 22, I’m in a U-haul with my boyfriend at the time, headed down to become a permanent resident for those next 5 years. That’s a whole other story, but I guess you could say the city was always calling my name. And I honestly (slash naively) thought I’d never leave.
I get why NY can be polarizing. It’s easy to see the chaos, literal garbage seemingly everywhere, honking horns, crowds and expensive everything and wonder why anyone would even bother. But then the sun hits a building’s windows during magic hour, you see a stranger help a woman carry her stroller up the subway steps, and you run directly into a five-star musical performance on the street. It’s a city where anything goes. You can be and express yourself however you want, no occasion needed.
Actually, you almost don’t have a choice but to live out loud there because you are quite literally somewhat naked, a lot of the time. There isn’t the safety net of a car to cry when a ping of heartbreak bubbles up at the wrong time, when your voice gets elevated on the phone with your mom, or when you get the call that you did indeed get the job. You often witness others in their hard, awkward, and also joyful moments. There’s a sense of camaraderie, even amongst total strangers and it just cannot be replicated. (And we’re not even talking about the obvious: food, culture, architecture, art, accessibility etc etc.)
While it can often feel like a blur at this point, those five years marked some of the best (and worst) of times and ultimately shaped a lot of who I am. There’s a real grit needed to just survive daily life there. Grocery shopping is now an athletic sport, dishwashers are reserved for the top earners, and picking the “right” subway car becomes part of your identity. But there’s an energy in the air that’s unmatched, and makes you feel like anything is possible. I waited tables while working an unpaid internship, worked in PR, waited tables again, got my real estate license / ran around like a lunatic renting apartments, started an online nutrition program, experienced my first real heartbreak, made some lifelong friends, and even got to spend most of those years with my brother in the same city.
When I left back in 2016, I remember telling friends I was going on a “sabbatical”— I couldn’t actually admit to anyone, let alone myself, that I might be leaving for good. Truthfully, I didn’t actually have a plan, outside of a deep knowing that I needed a break. From the hustle. The volatile relationship. The five story walk-up apartment. I craved change. And maybe some grass. But turning in my proverbial NY “badge”? Not sure I could consciously do that.
It was one of the lowest points of my life. Moving back to Rochester (and in with my parents)— no job, partner, car, apartment, and very very little cash. But eventually things slowly shifted and after finding a job, renting an apartment, and leasing a car… I accepted that I was staying. At least for now. Flash forward to 2024 and I’m really happy with where life has landed me. SO when thinking of where to celebrate my big-ish birthday? It was a no brainer.
There’s something really special about having a place that isn’t your home anymore, but still feels like it in ways. New York brings out what I can only describe as my truest self, where I’m happy to just be existing and find myself smiling for no reason at all. But I’m very aware that these feelings are heavily skewed by nostalgia and circumstance at this point, because I get to simply be a visitor now. I’m noticing things I would’ve blown right past while late for work. I get to take my time, wandering about, instead of running to catch the next bus. And I’m able to head out of town after my cup gets filled. There’s less pressure, less attachment. My previous FOMO has since turned into JOMO (joy of missing out, if you haven’t heard). Because contrary to my past fears, the city hasn’t changed at all. Well, a lot changes all the time, but it hasn’t changed at it’s core.. you know? And visiting now feels like the I get the best of both worlds. I’m happy to go and I’m happy to head home.
So I found a hotel and started updating my “NYC” note app on my phone. Adding any new spots I wanted to check out while in town (by spots I mean food, obviously). Michael asked, “Should I be looking into places for dinner, orrr?”. A fair (and thoughtful) question. Translation: I’m happy to take the lead, but also know that you most likely want to pick where we eat and I cannot read your mind. I appreciated that he didn’t want me to plan the whole weekend. And smiled to myself at some of my own (tiny) growth. This mid thirty-something version of myself is okay picking the restaurant that I want to eat at for my birthday, not needing someone to surprise me (with the exact spot I had in mind, of course).
It was one of my most memorable birthdays so far. Aside from the obvious reasons of being back in the city and with Micheal, it was the first time (maybe since I left?) where there wasn’t a packed schedule or people to accommodate. I have only stayed in a hotel there maybe 3 times, so it felt extra fancy to be staying in a swanky spot. I walked in and thought, “Oh, this is where adults stay”. We wandered around and walked for miles. Grabbed pizza. Dipped in and out of stores. Ate at one of my favorite, no frills Italian spots.
We stopped by the restaurant I worked at for years as I wanted to show Michael. Walking in, I figured I wouldn’t know anyone (unless the owner was there) since it’s been about 8 years. Right as we went to sit at the bar, the bartender and I quickly locked eyes and he smiled warmly, somewhat in disbelief. Francisco! A busboy for the years we worked together, now behind the bar. We had a couple of drinks and as we went to close out, I hear a familiar tune start to play. I turned around to see Tony, the sweetest food runner (who I also worked with), holding their signature cast-iron skillet chocolate chip cookie & ice cream, lit candle and all. They’re singing Happy Birthday. I blush and blow out the candles. Michael and I look at each other and sort of simultaneously whisper, “How are we going to eat this right now???!”. Unbeknownst to Fransisco, we were on our way to lunch when we stopped in. The glass of white wine at 1pm was a stretch for me to begin with! Now I’m buzzed and we can’t NOT eat this thoughtful, unexpected gift. It would be rude. One bite and it’s even better than I remember. Four minutes later, we’ve finished 94% of it. We walk to where we planned on eating lunch and I’m looking forward to consuming a vegetable, but rather quickly we both admit that we’re just not hungry anymore. *Sigh* Cookie for lunch it is! This is the magic of New York on your birthday, I thought. Anything can happen.
We settled into backgammon in the lobby. Saw jazz at a historic club. And enjoyed a birthday dinner with some of my dearest friends. It seems I’ve found the perfect travel template for me— a couple of reservations / spots to check out and big chunks of nothing to be spontaneous and explore. It couldn’t have been better and I’m so grateful for the experience (and king bed).
If birthdays aren’t your thing, I get it. I mean, I don’t actually, but I have zero judgement (!) and truly think everyone should spend their day however they’d like. I also know birthdays can conjure up some not-so-pleasant feelings or memories. I’m simply advocating for us all to lean in a little more to whatever feels right for you. And to not shrink into the idea that it’s “silly” to care or want to celebrate a certain way. You don’t have to love birthdays, but you also don’t have to pretend you don’t love them. At the very least, birthdays act as a line in the sand, a demarcation of sorts that helps us file our memories into some kind of order. So however you choose to acknowledge turning a year older, we can all agree it’s a downright privilege to age, right? Because that’s the actual gift.. being alive and healthy. (Also not not advocating for the birthday trip.)
Even when my “high birthday standards” have gotten the best of me, I wouldn’t change my birthday-forward upbringing for anything. They are some of the strongest memories I have and I get so much personal joy out of doing the same for others. (In case you thought this was all about me.) I will get just as jacked up, if not more, from dropping a coffee at someone’s door on their day. Maybe that’s the gateway; if you’re not super into your own birthday, try making a big deal of someone else’s. Can’t promise you won’t catch the bug!
I’d like to think I’ve chilled out over the years, but I think I’m now just focusing more on how I want to experience the day myself, instead of putting that pressure on anyone else. Because when you remove the expectation for others to make your day (or not), you leave space for an old co-worker to serve you a birthday cookie the size of your head for lunch, blowing out the only candle of the day. And it’s somehow even better than a pool party, if you ask me.
If you’ve made it this far, you deserve NEW YORK RECCS! These are not all-encompassing of course, but more so what we did this time around — maybe it’ll inspire you to swing by the next time you’re in town.
The Roxy Hotel:
Cannot say enough good things. This was a recommendation from a friend and my GOD did it deliver. Swanky. Cool. Moody without being pretentious. From the lounge and restaurant / bar to the lower level renowned jazz club + white noise built into the rooms.. we were in heaven. Not to mention it’s in Tribeca, where you’re walking distance to almost everything downtown AND are a bit removed from the crowds. Win/win.
From Lucie:
I have been obsessed with this bakery via Instagram and knew I had to get there in person. The owner, Lucie, is from France and has such a beautiful, organic way of making her products stand out. Lots of florals. Classic, but not-boring flavor combinations. I got a slice of their raspberry pear cake with almond and maple buttercream. I don’t even like traditional frosting and let’s just say, it’s one of the best cakes I’ve ever had. And yes, eating it in bed with a robe on probably elevated the experience, but I stand by this rating.
Scarr’s Pizza:
You know it’s a legit pizza spot in NY when there are a couple of small tables outside and people are standing in the cold to eat a slice. There are a handful of pizza places that are considered “of the best” and this is one of them for a reason. We waited in a (short) line and got one of each style— a plain traditional cheese thin crust and a thicker Sicilian pepperoni square. Both were delicious.
Malatesta Trattoria:
This is a place I used to frequent and was excited to go back as it’s been a while. This small, cozy spot is tucked into a corner on the outskirts of the West Village. The tables are close, the lighting is low and the service / food are exceptional. It’s no frills, fresh + always delivers. Oh, do not even THINK about not ordering the spinach gnocchi. It’s homemade, served with a gorgonzola sauce, and is just as good as I remembered.
Thai Diner:
This funky, eclectic Thai joint has made quite the name for itself (if that wasn’t clear by the one-hour-on-average wait time) Coming from the owners of the late Uncle Boon’s, it’s a fresh take on Thai fusion with both classics and inventive dishes alike. Stand outs for me: Baan Salad (crispy rice, romaine, pickled onion, avocado, and a bomb dressing- sounds simple, but the flavor / texture combo is so good). Kaeng Kieow Waan (braised short rib with this insane green curry sauce, crispy shallots + rice). Lastly, the Crab Fried Rice is worth mentioning because it’s just a classic, perfect dish.
Gotan:
This is a simple, counter-service coffee shop. But someone I follow and respect has mentioned (on multiple occasions) having her “favorite breakfast in the city” here. It also happened to be a stone’s throw from our hotel so we tried it on our last morning and I can absolutely see why it’s a favorite. The “Gotan Breakfast” is simply fried eggs, potatoes, tomato/cucumber salad, hummus + a couple of perfect pitas. It's unassuming, but the flavor and combo is outstanding; I could eat it every day.
Boulton & Watt:
My old stomping grounds. A fun, industrial restaurant / bar with a great location + vibe. Lots of open-air windows, delicious food. Get the blackened brick chicken and the skillet cookie, duh.
In closing, I promise the rest of my newsletters won’t be this long (or maybe they will! who knows!), but thanks for being here and I’m excited to get writing again (clearly). This first post is free for all, where the rest will have exclusive portions just for paid subscribers.
Until next time,
Mackenzie