Because the thing about the Wild is, you've got to have your own back.

"So you will walk and you will trip. You will trip over those rocks and get the bruises and the grazes and the heavy pack will make your legs buckle and your back ache. You are sure you can't go on".

I just finished reading the book Wild by Cheryl Strayed. It’s about a woman who decided to hike through the wilderness for 6 weeks. Alone. Her goal was to find herself and to 'sort' herself out. She was literally in the Wild and dealt with everything that comes to mind when you think of the Wild. Physical wounds from the pack she carried and the rocks she tripped on, emotional wounds as she replayed her past and anticipated her future, she saw wild animals that she had to run from and hide from, men who were amused a woman would do such a trip alone and strangers who she couldn’t tell if they were safe or dangerous but had to trust them with no other choice. Although, within all of this, she found renewed appreciation in the stars at night, the stars that shone brighter here than anywhere she’d seen before, beauty in the landscape that spanned miles and miles in every direction, pride in her journey and love for herself for daring to do such a crazy thing… in the Wild, she survived.

New York is my Wild. 

When I first got here I wrote a manic email to a travelling friend I had met on my previous trip to New York in December. I told him how I missed home, I had cried and I was lonely, “how do you do it!” I wanted the magic solution. Maybe he was going to reply with a time frame “Rachel on May 13^th you will feel ok again” or maybe even “there is a great vitamin drink at the CVS pharmacy and it’ll totally boost your mood!” that didn’t happen. What he said was that it’s personal, it’s different for everyone and to set some personal goals for myself. What is it I want to get from this? Learn to trust myself? Learn to listen to myself?

He said to figure the goals out early on and the days will have more purpose.

In every sense, this place is Wild. From my safe zone in Australia I looked outwards on New York as a bright, exciting city, full of clothing stores, fancy restaurants, yellow taxis, cocktail bars and a big green space called Central Park. And sure, this all exists… but there is also a booming underbelly. I can’t figure out if I was naïve when I first got here, or that I now pay too much attention to my surroundings, but what I do know, is that this city is Wild.

I have lost count of the times I have genuinely feared for my safety. I don’t say this to alarm my Grandparents back in Australia who I’m sure are reading this as they open their email to start typing to me. But really, it’s the truth and it is for most people in this city (unless you have a driver and a doorman). I recently received a very loving but concerned email from my Grandfather urging me to be careful, as the Australian news had full coverage on the death of a 22 year old Australian who had been shot in the back in America. My Grandpa was lovingly reminding me to please be safe and not put myself into any dangerous situations. In a separate conversation my best friend said, “Oh I’m sure you’ve heard all about it”. But the truth is I hadn’t heard anything about it, people get shot and killed here (in New York) on a daily basis and it doesn’t even make the news. That’s the reality. Now it may seem I’m painting a very black picture, and I certainly don’t mean too. But as I head into my fifth month here in America, my vision is slowly altering and I’m seeing New York for all that it is. For the Wild it really is. 

At least for me.

Each neighbourhood is vastly different to the next and on one corner you could count your money on the pavement and no one would bother you and on the next you’d better hold tight to your bag. The trick here is knowing where you are and always being alert. Just like being in the Wild. When hikers go into the bush they have their maps, boots, flashlight, flares and a compass. In New York I make sure I know where the subways are and what lines connect where, my phone is fully charged (with my charger in my bag), a bag with zips and my metro card where I can easily grab it.

Last week I was waiting for a friend in Chelsea at 11am, Friday morning. Chelsea to me is a nice, beautiful place to be in, however I quickly remembered, you stand anywhere in one spot for too long and you’re going to stick out. I’ve written before that NY is fast, if you’re looking in store windows- move to the side. Everyone is going somewhere or coming from somewhere and unless you want to stick out like a tourist (because they are everywhere and tourists are the ones that get picked on) you need to look like you know what you’re doing. So, silly me arrived at 10:40am, I had 20 minutes to wait… crap. In 20 minutes I was whistled at, stared at by a man 3 metres from me while mumbling under his breath, winked at and then asked if I needed a taxi. This is no exaggeration. I was so mad and in a huff by 10:55am I was ready to walk into the beauty spa across the road to get an unneeded eyebrow wax just to get off the street. For some unbeknownst reason, people here often think they can say whatever they want to you. They can call you names, yell abuse, ask for money and then get annoyed when you only give a dollar, follow you, and say whatever they want. I haven’t figured out why this happens. Maybe because there are so many people they figure everyone just blends in together, or because they are high or drunk, curious, lonely or angry?

Here, in my Wild I have grown a few new layers of skin. And I think this was one of my personal goals. I wanted to be a little less sensitive, a little less vulnerable and become a little stronger, a little more fierce.

In Australia I would do my best not to walk past a homeless person without giving money, what was a dollar to me in a day anyway. When I arrived in NY I tried at first to give money when I could but if I continued to give them all money, half my weekly salary would be gone. Often it’s too difficult to get your wallet out because they are standing up in your face asking and other times I just don’t have the money. This has made another layer of skin. The layer of skin that makes me think it's ok to not give money. I still get upset when walking past someone on the street begging, but I watch as some, don't even flinch. Is that surviving in the Wild? Is this how you make it? 

Friday night I stood on the subway, a man who looked to be in his fifties, wearing a fishing hat, yellow shirt and brown pants began to speak...

“Good evening everyone, I am homeless, I don’t have a place to live and I am hungry. I cannot see well and my legs give me constant pain, any money you can spare I would appreciate. Please can you help me.” 

As he walked from one end of the subway to the other he repeated, “please can you help me, please can you help me, please can you help me”. These words hit me like a brick in the face. Of the 40 or more people who filled the subway, only one person put coins in his cup. My wallet was empty and as I stood there holding the pole I was another “please help me” away from bursting into tears. Was I the only one who felt my insides turning for this person? Because this man was sure to step out of the subway and into the Wild. He would disappear into the Wild and I am certain I will never see him again. When I speak to other New Yorkers it’s a general consensus that “it’s very sad, but you can’t give them all money”. I know there is truth in this but somewhere in this Wild I can’t help but feel.

In a city full of people it can sometimes feel empty. People weaving in, out and around each other. I've been bumped, tripped and shoved without a single "sorry". And this isn't a New York thing, this is a big city thing. This is just a Wild human thing. I love New York, just as Cheryl loved her landscape that went for miles and miles. New York is my Wild that's slowly but surely making me, me.

Wild it is... to survive in it. 

Because the thing about the Wild is, you've got to have your own back. Because there isn't anybody else there to catch you when you fall. And that's the truth.

"So you will walk and you will trip. You will trip over those rocks and get the bruises and the grazes and the heavy pack will make your legs buckle and your back ache. You are sure you can't go on. But if you can just make it a little further... your skin will start adjusting, your muscles will grow stronger to hold the pack and you will remember to watch your step and next time, you will stop your fall and you will survive".