Stranger in My City

On my first day back from Harvard, I had lunch with my high school friend Talia. We picked up takeout sushi from a popular market near our old school and strolled down Madison Avenue, chatting and window shopping. We had done the exact same routine on one of the last days before leaving for college—same restaurant, same stores.

So much had changed since I last saw her. Aside from a brief visit during Harvard-Yale, we hadn’t really kept in touch. And yet, we picked up right where we left off. After a quick SparkNotes-style recap of the past nine months, our conversation drifted back to familiar topics. It felt eerily unchanged, as if we had stepped into separate universes and then returned to the same one we left behind, our time apart only a distant memory. Obviously, so much was different, and yet I couldn’t shake the feeling that nothing had changed at all. 

I had a similar feeling the day my dad came to pick me up from campus in May. We cleaned out Pennypacker 25 until it was spotless. My roommate had already shipped her things out, and the room looked just as it had in August. On the four-hour drive back to the city, I found myself expecting everything at home to be just as I’d left it. And for a few days, it was. I went downtown with my girlfriends, took long walks in the park with my mom, and made the breakfast I ate nearly every morning in high school. I felt completely comfortable, and the chaos and uncertainty of transitioning to college seemed to melt away.

But that comfort didn’t last.

I thought coming home would feel like stepping back into the life I had left behind. Instead, I found I’d outgrown it and had to learn how to live at home all over again. 

Soon enough, reality set in. My parents, now empty nesters, had built routines without me. It seems obvious in hindsight, but I was jarred by how independent their lives had become. Once I started working, they were often out of the house, and I found myself living alone for much of May and June. I quickly became overwhelmed, juggling time with old friends and new, and adjusting to the relentless pace and heat; the city felt suffocating. I had worked so hard to create a new routine in Cambridge, and suddenly, back home, I felt aimless. Without the structure high school had provided to see my friends daily, I now had to make plans with intention. That seemed to mean the fading away of some old friendships. The beginning of summer had always felt relaxed, but this year, with my upcoming work schedule, I felt as though I had too much time yet somehow not enough. Nothing was carefree or simple anymore.

After many afternoons of spiraling, feeling like a stranger in my home, I finally came to terms with my situation: this was just another adjustment. I had grown used to independence at school—going to bed and waking up at my convenience, strolling along the Charles after classes, hunkering down in Widener, but always with the certainty that I would see my friends at Berg or in Tatte at some point during the day. Home now required a different kind of independence—one without built-in structure or community. 

That realization shifted my perspective. I began to see that not all change was bad. Many of my Harvard friends were in New York for summer jobs and internships. On any given night, I could start the evening with my oldest friends and end it with the newest. There is something special about introducing them to each other—about watching my different worlds collide. 

Beyond this convergence of friendships, I made an effort to reconnect with all of the things I love and miss about home. One of my first stops was the newly renovated Frick Collection. The Gilded Age mansion on 71st and 5th had long been a favorite of mine, but after a year immersed in Harvard’s History of Art and Architecture program, I had gained a newfound appreciation for the porcelain halls, the ornate clocks, and the quiet sunlit courtyard. 

My mom and I ventured to Broadway, where we saw Sarah Snook take on a 29-role one-woman show in “The Picture of Dorian Grey,” and Cole Escola’s Tony-winning performance in “Oh Mary!” My dad and I revived an old tradition, watching the Yankees beat the Red Sox (sorry, Boston) while enjoying classic New York hot dogs. 

It was in these activities that I found a balance that worked for me—a harmony between home and school, New York and Boston. This summer has shown me just how much my world has expanded since starting college. I can look forward to returning to Cambridge—to my routines and independence—but I’m also learning to appreciate everything I love about home, as I continue to evolve and grow beyond those old comforts.

Last week, as I rode the 4/5 uptown with my blockmates on a sweltering afternoon, it hit me: the city is still the city. What’s changed is me. I’ll always be a New Yorker, no matter how long I live in Boston—maybe I can learn to bring a little bit of each city to the other.

Mia Wilcox ’28 (mwilcox@college.harvard.edu) is considering converting to a Red Sox fan for the sake of Boston culture.