This my ninth year in New York City. I never thought I would say that. I always thought I’d spend 2-4 years in New York, then move back to San Francisco, or at least California. It’s strange to think about how time has passed so quickly, and at the same time, I feel very young and old simultaneously.

In New York, I’ve made a handful of good friends, got laid off from my first job during the massive economic recession of 2008-2009, and since had two other jobs that have taught and exposed me to new things in life, for better or for worse. I’ve faced intense office politics and unfairness, sex discrimination, and subtle racial discrimination. I’ve had to compromise on ethics and when faced with the decision to be myself or suck up and be someone I wasn’t, I continued to be an adult and be myself. I’ve come to know when Jewish holidays are coming up because in this city, that is the expectation whether you are Jewish or not. I realize here that no one gives a shit about Lunar or Chinese New Year the way people do in San Francisco.

New York has hardened me. It’s made me a little more jaded, a little more cynical. But at the same time, I also have more hope. I have hope that even in the worst of times, I can survive and make it out alive and well. And in a Trump Nation for the next four years, I know that survival is key, and I won’t let Trump or any bad work situation prevent me from living the life I want to live.