Photos c/o Sara Kerens
When I moved to Brooklyn I sold everything. With my two suitcases, photography gear, pictures, books, and a whole bunch of dreams, I left a wonderful life in LA in the dead of summer to take on the world.
In Brooklyn I’ve experienced the highest of highs and the lowest of lows. I’ll never forget the first night in my new Brooklyn apartment. It was 95 degrees outside and we had no A/C. We didn’t have furniture yet, so it looked like we were squatters. My roomate and I slept on barely usable air mattresses. That first week the apartment above us flooded and their bathroom fell into our bathroom and flooded the place. Our walls were so thin that sometimes I woke up to the alarm on the phone of my next door neighbor.
Nothing about it was sexy, but I still had a romantic excitement and readiness those first months here. I was here, and nothing could discourage me.
The inconveniences have become less romantic. Sometimes I’ve cried tears of frustration on the subway and find myself praying, out loud, on a busy street.
But amidst the moments that seem to only be acceptable here—like having a company saw my couch in half to fit it through the stairwell of my apartment–I still love this crazy city. And there’s something about the summer I especially love.
Maybe it’s because as I walk the hot and humid streets, or feel the relief that comes when I step on to the air conditioned subway, I am reminded of those first months when each experience was a first. I remember the hopes, dreams, and aspirations I had when I sold all of my belongings to make this place home.
And it all feels worth it.