c/o Emma Kendall

After college, many students—especially Wesleyan graduates and those of other small East Coast liberal arts schools—consider moving to New York City. “The Big Apple” is the apple of these young eyes for a few reasons. First of all, many students are from the East Coast originally and can move between the huge city and their hometowns while still feeling close enough to their families. Secondly, “The City That Never Sleeps” is known to offer it all: accessible public transportation, widespread networks in almost every industry that corresponds to the many college degrees of those new grads, and a bustling nightlife revolving around an insanely concentrated city center where nothing is ever very far away. 

While I personally have my own reservations about moving to a city across the country from where I grew up yet again (the previous instance being the last four years of my life), I do understand the appeal. But for me, the biggest draw about such a significant move is the fact that I would be surrounded by a circle of established friends and would thus never feel truly alone. After all, for me, this is one of the appeals of college: being just around the corner from people you enjoy spending time with and getting to spend a whole lot of time with them.

Take, for example, my current living situation. The other day, while doing work at my desk, I heard what sounded like moans, groans, and screams emanating from the television in our living room. When I got up to investigate, I discovered one of my roommates watching “One Born Every Minute,” a British reality series documenting the births that happen in a hospital’s maternity ward from the moment the mother arrives in labor to the baby being born right there in front of your face. As someone who dreads anything to do with the pregnancy process and finds the whole idea of birth absolutely terrifying, I couldn’t look away. We ended up watching quite a few episodes even though I admittedly felt the need to close my eyes at times and I have no regrets. While I would never choose this activity for myself, I was happy to experience it with the people I live with. This kind of cohabitation is unique to this point in our lives, where we have both the freedom and opportunity to live together in a meaningful and spontaneous way.

During every year of my time at Wesleyan, my friends—and specifically, the proximity of my friends—have contributed to improving my overall quality of life. During freshman year I was assigned to Butterfield A, and while I was initially put off by its prison-like exterior, I would now recommend living in the Butts to all Wesleyan first-years. Not only did I get to pull one of my friends into my half-empty double in order to have a built-in activity partner for pastimes as mundane as walking to Usdan, but I also very much felt the closeness of living among hundreds of other first years, as do many Butts residents their freshman year. Sophomore year was a similar experience. Even though most of my friends and I had singles, it did not feel like we ever lost that sense of community, that feeling that everyone was just a hallway away or a minute’s walk max.

Junior year felt even more condensed, given that the small grouping of buildings we inhabited is literally called “Junior Village.” The addition of common spaces within our little apartments meant we didn’t have to be cooped up in our bedrooms to hang out. Though the University housing system is not perfect, there is something to be said about how close we all get to be every year (and, perhaps for some, that’s actually a nightmare) and how connected this allows us to stay, rooted in each other’s daily routines. Living abroad last semester, every student in my program lived with different host families all over the city, meaning that seeing my friends involved a 20–40 minute train ride, and we could not just simply invite one another over whenever but had to make everything into an established plan in some acceptable third space. Compared to what I was used to, I found it isolating. 

This year, most of us seniors are playing house: living in the woodframes we’ve always wanted (or got stuck with). We get to host dinner parties, put out patio furniture, buy a $35 couch (score!), and order packages straight to our doorstep. At night, we can go over to the people next door or the neighbors across the street for a party, and those people also happen to be our friends! I know in some ways the sheer lack of any distance is a little crazy and maybe even a little claustrophobic, but I think I’m definitely going to miss it.

In bringing us back one more time to the seemingly enticing oasis that is New York, maybe you can begin to see what I mean when I say the best part would be the people I would get to see every day. And I’m not the only one. An Atlantic article I read made the case for living close to your friends—and not just same-city-close, more like same-building-close. It is arguably easier to have a happy social life when you are always near friends who are also there to support you. Now, I’m not suggesting we all permanently move into communes with all our friends and raise each other’s kids. Rather, I think community should be something we recognize as essential, not just an added bonus. Post-college, there is no guarantee we’ll all even end up at the same stage of life again and be able to live together, especially considering outside factors such as financial situations, marital statuses, and parental responsibilities. 

The above Atlantic article argued that individuals make impactful life decisions for their significant others all the time and often those lifestyle changes have to do with big moves to new cities, so why isn’t moving to be with your friends considered just as acceptable? The truth is, adult friendships are never valued in the same way as career goals and settling down to have a family. Another article, coincidentally also from The Atlantic, argued that when we are kids we’re allowed to spend time nurturing our friendships, but as we get older we forget how to play and how to just be with each other for long stretches of time, enjoying each other’s company.

This year is perhaps the last year in my life where this sort of easy intimacy can flourish organically. Obviously, I want to maintain it in the coming years to the best of my ability. (I was recently looking into a service that has all your friends fill out questions and then create a weekly newsletter update on your lives for everyone to read.) But for now, I think I’m just going to bask in it as I try and memorize that feeling of coming home to find your roommates, who also happen to be friends you love, making dinner in the kitchen. You realize you are all together and they are glad to see you.

Emma Kendall is a member of the class of 2024 and can be reached at erkendall@wesleyan.edu.