DEAR New York.

Dear New York, 

I’m leaving you soon. 

This past August was 15 years since I first showed up in The Bronx as an excited, albeit scared, 18-year-old from Newport, Vermont. I’ve logged just as much time here as I did in my hometown. Thinking about the last 15 years of my life in the Big Apple I realized the importance of each of the places I’ve called “home.” Florida birthed me, Vermont raised me, and I grew up in New York. When I really think about how young and naive I was at 18 vs. who I am now at 34, I definitely grew up here. 

I would even be so bold as to say that I became Me, here. 

A little biracial girl. Born in the South and raised in the North. Raised by a wealthy White farm family, with a disabled single mother, and somehow made it all the way to The Big City.

I remember the first time I ever came here. It was junior year of high school and our marketing team made their annual trip to NYC. I was so excited. We were coming around Christmas time so I had the chance to do all the touristy things. Rockefeller Center to see the tree. Radio City Music Hall for the Rockettes and the Christmas Spectacular, and even the Empire State Building. I remember cruising along the East River on our night time ferry tour, during the middle of winter, and looking back at the city thinking one day, I’m going to live here. And I did. 

At first, the main reason I wanted to move here was because I wanted to meet a Black man and have adorable little Black babies. Yes, there was a time where I actually wanted kids! Shocking, I know. But I wanted diversity outside my little White town in Northern Vermont where my sister and I were really the only people of color for miles. 

I struggled quite a bit when I first moved to New York. The beginning process of “finding myself.” I was angry when I came here and ready for a chance to change things. I was angry at always being second best to a sister that didn’t always DO her best, and I felt like I had to prove myself as a Black person, almost as soon as I stepped on Bronx soil. My friends now could NEVER imagine the me I was when I arrived at Manhattan College as a college freshman, but the process of trying to understand how to honor all parts of me in a city who wanted to know all the different parts of you, was difficult to say the least. To say I was a “wild child” wouldn’t be that far from the truth. I came to New York depressed from being in Vermont, my relationship with my mom in the balance, and the overwhelming fear of finally being alone and away from home. 

I, of course, did what every sane young woman in her first year of college would do. I drank.

I’ll spare you the details, but while most people see me now in my ALMOST mid-30’s and see the life I have built for myself, it’s hard for them to imagine that I used to be the girl that got into bar fights defending friends, almost got kicked out of college, TWICE, and fought more people then I can even remember (because of the drinking and stuff). 

Most would be mortified to share these kinds of details, but for me, I’ve learned to embrace every stage of who I was, knowing that it brought me to who I am today. 

The Bronx educated me, and Brooklyn nurtured me. Both figuratively and literally. 

I spent five years living at West 242nd Street - Van Cortlandt Park and not only received a Bachelor’s Degree but learned more about myself in those five years than I ever would’ve learned in Vermont. I learned about the type of woman I wanted to be, as a friend and as a partner. I learned to always trust my instincts, especially when it comes to the judgment of someone’s character. I learned what it truly meant to be loved and supported by a partner and made to feel seen in who you are. To truly become best friends with the person you’re dating. 

I learned the importance of friendship. 

In Vermont, I didn’t like a lot of the people I went to school with. It’s a small town so everyone has known each other since Kindergarten and when you’re the only woman of color, it’s hard to find people that appreciate you for you. Most of my closest friends now are from my time here in New York, and finding that feeling of true friendship and support was one of the best things I learned here. 

When I left The Bronx in 2014 it was to move to a far away, magical land called Brooklyn.

And when I say Brooklyn nurtured me I don’t know how better to describe it without sounding like a cheesy lovestruck poet. 

Like I said, I came to New York with depression. And in the five years I lived in The Bronx I struggled with it deeply. Nothing really changed when I moved to Brooklyn, at first. But continuing to find people that I connected with on a heartstring level was where I thrived. So depressed or not, I finally felt like I found my people. 

Goodwin Place was where I lived for the first 6 years of my Brooklyn tenure.  It was where I first became a working professional, and started to build the life I wanted for myself. 

I learned to love sex again. I learned to be free to express myself sexually, and to rid myself of the guilt and shame we as women put on ourselves when it comes to sex. 

I worked my ass off. I’d leave my apartment around 7/7:30AM to trek around the corner to the Gates Ave JZ train, and ride my way into TriBeCa where I was working at my first PR job. I was an Account Executive and thought I was living my true New York dream. I even stopped at a little corner cafe on West Broadway, in the mornings I wasn’t running extremely late, to order a cappuccino and drink it at my desk. 

I worked there from 9am to 6pm, until I realized the salary they offered me as a graduate right out of college (which to me seemed HUGE as a terribly broke as fuck college kid), wasn’t enough to afford my Brooklyn apartment AND feed myself. 

That’s where The Dutch came in. 

A NoHo Hospitality restaurant on the corner of Prince and Sullivan in SoHo I became a hostess in February 2015, a week after my college boyfriend of 6 years dumped me. (I like to tell people it was a “mutual” decision, but don’t we all?).

If I had known when I took that interview in the Private Dining Room of The Dutch’s basement, that this restaurant and company would play such a MASSIVE role in who I was about to become, I don’t know if I would’ve believed it. 

First was the other hostesses. 

There were 6 of us at the time that consisted of Legna, Ellie, Kelly, Eriana, Genai, and myself. When I first arrived the girls all knew and spoke to each other during service, but it was like an electric wave went through each of us after a while, and I developed some of my deepest friendships with those girls after only a few months of working together. We were known as the Power Team. We hung out after work, supported each other through most things, and even all attended Legna’s wedding together in 2018. 

We welcomed a few new girls that slowly integrated with the team, and even said goodbye to some of the veteran hosts who moved on to other jobs. 

Ellie and I stayed as close as sisters. We’ve since traveled the world together, battled a pandemic together, and supported each other's wins and losses.

Second was the management. 

Shortly after I arrived at The Dutch a former Dutch maitre’d, Jamie Greenwald, returned to The Dutch as its GM. How I made it working there almost 5 years later, and how on earth Jamie Greenwald was the first person I went to after getting fired from my first PR job, I will never know. Our relationship started out rough. 

I hadn’t really started on my journey of supporting other women, so when Jamie joined the team and was now my boss, I instinctively rebelled. And she put up a damn good fight too. I think we could both agree that neither liked the other (she’s actually admitted to wanting to fire me the first week she was there). In the end though, I’m a Capricorn, so I never fuck with my money. One heated night when I had snapped at her on the floor, during service, I knew my job was on the line. I was drowning at my PR job that had moved to 29th Street near MSG, and had been working 9am to 5:30pm and then running down to Soho to be at The Dutch from 6pm to 1am. My mother and I were fighting at the time, I was exhausted and overworked and underslept, and I took it out on her. The next day before service, I showed up about an hour early and asked to speak with her. I took her to the side and explained what was going on in my life that made me lash out at her, and apologized for my behavior. She respected me after that. 

Once we became on good terms the front door at The Dutch became a well oiled machine. She could’ve fired me that night, or even when I came in the next day - and she may have planned to - but instead she gave me a chance. And boy did it pay off. 

When the first week of December hit in 2015, and I had already been interviewing and applying to new jobs, my boss at my PR job (Paul), called me into his office and told me they were letting me go. I sat there unmoving. He asked me if I had anything I wanted to say, or any response, and I simply told him I understood but I also felt like they didn’t really teach me how to do anything. I held my head high and walked into the office of the other head publicist (Denise) to let her know I was leaving. She didn’t like me. I knew that. But I wanted to leave on a good note. Denise smirked at me from across her desk as she told me, “maybe a career in PR isn’t really for you.” I remember being livid because she had always been a bitch to me since I had started working there in June 2013, and just told her that no, that wasn’t it. This just wasn’t the right company for me. 

I got outside and immediately cried. I was too embarrassed to call and tell my mom, so I called The Dutch and asked for Jamie. She calmed me down as I hysterically broke down in the middle of Manhattan, 3-weeks before Christmas, and told me I could come to The Dutch and see her if I felt like I needed to talk to someone. I jumped on the Downtown A Train to West 4th, and walked the few blocks over to Sullivan Street. I sat in The Dutch’s manager's office for over an hour sobbing out my woes to a woman who had wanted to fire me the moment she met me. 

Jamie asked what I needed, and because I think part of our charts align, she asked if working the night would help as a distraction. I wasn’t dressed for hosting and was exhausted from crying, so she sent me on my way, told me she would fill up my shift schedules so I could make more money there, and sent me home to heal. 

Over the next year or so during my semi-unemployment phase, Jamie arranged interviews with her PR friends, gave me all the best hosting shifts, and acted as my surrogate mother during a time in which I was barely speaking to mine. 

When I went to her in February 2018 and let her know I was starting my own PR firm, she was the first to congratulate me and try to send new clients and opportunities my way. And when I was finally busy enough with clients, she wished me well as I phased out of hosting, making an occasional appearance during Thanksgiving and Christmas holidays when other staff were off. 

I became a boss in New York!

I remember being a little girl and always playing “business woman." I had no idea what kind of business I owned, or what we produced, but I liked the idea of running my own business. 

When I first got into PR (by chance), I always imagined having my own PR firm. After years of working for other people and learning what NOT to do when it comes to business and managing PR clients, I decided it was time to truly be in control of my life and where my money was coming from. Again, Capricorn shit. 

I was working for a family-owned PR firm in 2017 that consisted of a husband and wife duo. Their methods and morals clashed heavily with mine, and after my third month of not being paid on time; of my boss yelling at me because of a mistake HE made and I fixed; I quit in the middle of New York Fashion Week and immediately started my own business the next day. 

I had already started working with a few clients on the side. Client’s with low budgets of only $500 a month, but since my JOB job wasn’t paying me on time, anything helped. 

I had done a great job over the years of saving contacts and keeping in touch with people I had worked with. Managers of clients, editors at major publications, and even the artists themselves. It was terrifying to be honest. I wasn’t sure what my family would think of me deciding to go out on my own, and I wasn’t 100% sure how I would survive in New York City as a freelancer. Breaking the news to Tara (my roommate of 4 years) was nerve wracking as well. I didn’t want her to think I was about to not have money to pay for our apartment, but I also was excited and wanted to celebrate the freedom of FINALLY not having to answer to anyone else. 

Now, this February 2025 will be 7 years since I ventured into the great unknown. I went from just myself and my wits and ambition, to managing teams as big as 6 full-time people, and up to 5 interns a semester. We’re almost 100% referral based, building a promising reputation within PR that has allowed our clients to continue to return to us, as well as spread the word about our services and expertise. Sure, there have been good years and bad years…we went from pulling in $30K per event and doing 4 events across 4 cities one year, to struggling to lock in new clients, creating almost 15 brand proposals in a month's time, and just as many new client intro calls. As I tell my team on our 10am morning Zooms, “It’s crazy in here!” (“here” is in my own anxiety ridden head). 

Brooklyn coffee shops served as the headquarters to my empire. I worked from everything across Williamsburg and Bushwick, from the Hoxton Hotel to Sunrise/Sunset, to Freehold (R.I.P.), to a tiny tea shop in Williamsburg that also recently shut down. When I was only able to afford ONE sole employee, they would meet me at said coffee shops and we’d work until 4pm before calling it a day. 

Eventually, post-COVID, I took the chance and got my own 2-bedroom apartment in Bedstuy where I now was able to house my entire team that had grown from one solo employee, to four at this time. My dream had always been to have a beautifully decorated, colorful apartment with a large wooden dining table that my team would sit around and share ideas. I had that real-life vision for 4-years. 

Now I’m moving to Spain. 

I fell in love with Spain the first time I visited back in 2008. When I realized during the FIRST Trump era that I couldn’t bear to live in the US anymore (and I’ve seen The Handmaid's Tale so I wasn’t about to be one of those idiots that stay around hoping that things get better). I knew Spain was my ultimate goal but wanted to explore other places. After making my way across most of the US during three or four different road trips, and exploring England, Ireland, Italy, Netherlands, Germany, and Thailand, I made my way back to Spain in 2022 for a friend's wedding in Barcelona. 

Barcelona truly opened my eyes to the lifestyle and place I wanted to be. I made the decision during that trip that my goal was to move to Spain within 3 years, and went about plotting and planning for this to happen. And now we’re here. 

And now the nostalgia sets in. Five years ago I could have never imagined leaving my precious NYC, where I found family and a home. And although it’s bittersweet, I am slowly coming to terms with it. I’m happy with the person that New York has allowed me to become. I’m happy for the people who have shared their lives with me, and the distance from family that allowed me space while still being able to be present for some of the most heartbreaking moments of my life. 

I leave with no regrets. 

When Tara and I decided one year to do a speed dating event just for shits and giggles, I always think to this one, middle-aged, balding gentlemen that asked me if I could go back in time and tell my 16-year old self once piece of advice for the future, what would it be? It didn’t take me too long to cheesily respond, “Nothing,” because every decision I had made in life had led me to that moment and who I was as a person. And I still stand by that today. Despite the arrests and fights, the heartbreak from losing friends and loved ones, to even the loss of my mom and grandparents, I leave New York City with the notion that no other city could’ve made me who I am today, except NYC. 

And as I get ready to float my ass across the pond, and into another city that I’m sure will give me even MORE life, I feel just as giddy and nervous as I was all those years ago when my mom drove me the 300-and-something miles from Newport, Vermont to The Bronx. 

New York, thank you for the memories. Xoxo

Jess