Today was a great day. I took a stunning morning stroll through my neighborhood, I built a door in my new apartment with my friend Thomas, my dog and I enjoyed the perfect fall weather from our backyard, and I finished it all off with a great meal at a new local restaurant. This was one of those days when I actually couldn't imagine living anywhere but New York City, and these days don't happen very often for me because, in truth, I kind of hate this place.
Oh, I know, I know, all you city lovers are out there yelling, "Well, then leave, you ungrateful, uncultured, Midwestern swine. Leeeeeave... this, thy greatest city on Earth!!" Oooookay, I can almost smell your Nathan's hot dog breath and hear the click of your high heels as you run, screaming on your cell phone, across 5th Avenue through an obviously red light... oi.
I just find it hard to live here sometimes, especially as a gay man. It can just feel, like, a lot: a lot of pressure; a lot of NOW! GO! BE! AMAZING!; a lot of "Who's hot? Who's not? And... who just wants to eat fluffernutters and watch movies all day?" (Me!) Sure, these are mostly my issues, but I'm writing this post, so... hello! Welcome to my issues! To those of you who don't live in NYC and are saying, "Um... Gavin, that is probably one of the easiest places to live as a gay man, so... shut it," I would probably respond, "I guess in most ways, you're right," but in my experience over these last 13 years while trying to blend in and act like I've got this town figured out, I've come to realize my simple truth: I was raised an Ohio boy, and I think I will probably always be (sigh) an Ohio boy.
When I was moving to the Big Apple, I was told I would experience quite a culture shock upon my arrival. Most people back home were referring to the huge buildings, masses of people, the crazy pace... you know, that sort of thing. They probably knew nothing of the real culture shock I would feel when witnessing the endless parade of muscle boys tipping up and down 9th Avenue, or the "Funny, Fit and Fabulous" crowd holding court at every gay party across town, or even the 2:30-a.m. make-out sessions with four complete strangers in a bathroom stall at Therapy. (What? This didn't happen to you?) My point is, the Big Gay Apple can be really overwhelming, and there have been many days when I have felt utterly lost within it.
I arrived here in 1998, super green and a complete musical theatre nerd with one thing on my mind: get on Broadway, stat! I was lucky enough to open my first show (Thoroughly Modern Millie) on my 26th birthday, and once that had happened I assumed I would immediately experience the complete and total euphoria that must, of course, come from having all of one's dreams come true.
Right?
Isn't that what's supposed to go down?
Well, not only did that not go down, but what I quickly realized was that for my first four years in New York, I was so hell-bent on creating the life of Gavin Creel the Actor that I didn't have any clue how to be Gavin Creel the Plain Old Carefully Blossoming Gay Lad About Town in NYC. That was a problem. I did not know how to be gay. This may sound forced to some of you, but when you're told your whole life that you are straight and you are supposed to be straight and there is no option for you but to be straight, and then you figure out that that's not the wiring you were set up with, it takes a little practice to know how to be what no one said you were allowed to be. Being gay takes some work in the beginning, and having to do that work in the biggest city on Earth... oh, my hell, it's crazy!
Because of my fear, I really didn't let in a lot of new experiences or discoveries. Though I had a wonderful boyfriend at the time, I didn't appreciate him nearly enough. I had loads of gay friends, but I rarely engaged in their social circles. Simply put, I was scared, and I hid from myself. The funny thing about New York City is that if you hide from her, she's just gonna say, "Whatever, kid!" and leave you in the dust. That stunning, electrifying, fast-paced mistress of a town has way too much going on in her to wait around for some lost, little man from Findlay, Ohio to figure his life out. That was how I felt, anyway, and that was probably the real reason I started to hate her.
Now at 35, however, I am actively working to repair our strained relationship. I know, of course, that New York has an endless and incredible supply of both obvious and hidden wonders. I doubt I'll ever live in a more culturally diverse and accepting place, and I am constantly encouraged when I witness it becoming even more so. Moving out of Hell's Kitchen was also a huge step toward reinstating the love. How I lasted there for eight years I'll never know... oh, wait, those 9th-Avenue muscle kitties may have helped. Prrrrrrrr. I have my incredible group of friends who make it impossible for me to pick up everything and move to London full-time, though I flirt with the idea daily. I still don't go to gay bars all that often, but the difference now is that I'm not not going because I'm afraid, but rather I'm not going now because I don't want to get off the couch. Some scenes are just more people's thing than others, and I know that my Gay New York is truly whatever I make of it. If I want her loud and lively, she's there. If I want sunsets and starlight, Battery Park, here I come. Public or private, slutty or simple, this town really does have it all. And if I've learned anything from the hard knocks she's dealt me along the way, I know she can take a little hating on her from time to time.
Love her or leave her, there is no place quite like NYC. (Cue song from Annie...)