#nyccommute

Transferred schools. Moved back into my grandma’s house. Landed a two-season internship that dropped me into the belly of the beast. Industry hours, student deadlines, two side hustles, and a sad attempt at maintaining a love life. I was broke, beat-up, and burning out. But I was in the game.

Commuting from deep South Jersey to NYC meant calves of steel, subway blisters, and enough sinus pain to make me hallucinate. I remember the infection got so bad I couldn’t hear right, but I kept pushing. Thought I was invincible. I wasn’t.

One morning, I got told to run an intern errand—retrieve a phone someone drunkenly left behind. Great. I take the train, hoping to give my feet a break. But the second those subway doors closed, I knew something was off.

The sound dropped out. The world turned chrome. My heart hit hyperspeed and my head felt like it was splitting in two. I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Just knew I had to get off that train or I was gonna hit the floor.

I stumbled out and collapsed on the platform. Flat on my back, right there on the grimy tile. People circled. Faces blurred. Muffled voices. Nothing made sense. I took ten deep breaths. And then… I was back. Heart steady. Ears ringing. Ego bruised.

My first real panic attack—and my first lesson in mortality. And yeah, my first thought? “Damn, I’m lying on a filthy MTA floor.”

That moment rewired me. I swore two things: 1. Never die on the NYC subway. 2. Stop letting small shit kill you slowly.

That era was beautiful chaos. I saw the most art, partied ‘til sunrise, hit every creative wall, and scraped my way through it all. But I was chasing too much, saying yes to everything, grinding alone, thinking that was strength. It wasn’t. It was ego dressed up as ambition.

Some wisdom came through the noise: Combat Jack told me the game requires groundwork—you don’t quit just because it’s not cute anymore. Jonathan Foaubi reminded me that creative block ain’t some mystical curse, it just means you’re not pulling from your own damn life. That stuck with me.

The more I reflect, the more I realize: I’ve always been clutch when it mattered. I can build. I can create. I can dig myself out.

But I don’t need to do it all alone anymore. Saying “no” is a power move. So is resting. So is trusting your timing.

I’m still in the search—but now I move sharper. More aware. Less afraid.

Spent my morning taking my time to cook lunch

Then I end up changing my outfit twice