The New York City Dream

Dreams are what bring people to New York City. Dreams of becoming a famous fashion designer, of making a fortune on Wall Street, of dancing on Broadway, of writing for a magazine, of living in the greatest city in the world. But once here, all those many dreams meld into one; one dream that so nags at your conscious, so grips at your very being that all you can do is hold on to it, playing it over and over in your mind, hoping that one day, one day soon, it will come true. And, oh!, what a glorious day that would be!

I have the New York City dream. I have it quite frequently, actually. It’s the kind of dream that occurs while sleeping, subconscious thoughts playing out in such real surroundings that when roused, for a split second it doesn’t seem as though it was a dream; it seems real and has renewed my excitement of living in the city. But then my eyes open and my feet hit the floor, and I wish terribly to close my eyes and be transported back.

Transported back, because it is only in the dream, this one collective dream of every New Yorker, that my apartment is indeed four times its actual size. That my closet has room to walk in and turn a cartwheel. That the door I had never noticed in my hallway opens to a huge hidden room with skylights, a swimming pool, 20-foot ceilings, unobstructed views of the city, and three ponies grazing on lollipops. As my waking body rushes to the hallway to see if the door to my dreams is still there, the dark, small reality sets in: it was all just a dream.

But thankfully for all of us dreamers, another night awaits, and another chance to make it all come true.