My oldest friend has known me since Kindergarten, and is probably one of the most easy-going, fun loving people I have ever met. Josh is the guy who flew by the seat of his pants at our college job, the guy who would pick me up from the bus station for a visit and just drive in no particular direction to see what we could see. For as long as I have known him, he has always been down for impromptu hangouts, unscheduled festivities, and a serious amount of fun. While I am no wet blanket, it is not without a certain level of planning that I approach my life, and until recently, traveling away from home in particular.

Two years ago Josh moved to New Orleans, and I have since visited him twice. The first trip was a pre-meditated birthday extravaganza that coincided with Mardi Gras 2014. It is a blur of delicious food, brightly colored drinks, and a serious hangover. The second trip started out as a joke: he invited me to his housewarming party on Facebook, and kiddingly I accepted, and then prank called him about bringing my roomie. We were both giggling all the while, knowing how good it would be to see one another, and then there was the moment of silence that is equivalent to ‘the look’ in movies right before the characters do something spur of the moment, and the next thing I know we are talking Southwest Airmiles and landing times.

One of the conditions of this trip was that I was not going to plan anything. I would not recommend traveling to a new place without connections and not having a game plan, but when visiting a trusted old friend in a City you are even remotely familiar with, it can be freeing to let go of research and logistics in favor of spontaneity and going with the flow. Old habits die-hard and more than once Josh had to remind me that I was on vacation, not a planner, and he had everything under control. Letting go is hard, guys.

But once you do there is an interesting feeling. For myself, I would describe it as part surrender, part exhilaration. When you understand that planning everything is impossible, and that many things are out of your control you open yourself to a lot of possibility. You give yourself up to the flow of your trip, to the people around you, and to whatever could happen, and acknowledge that you don’t need to control it all and you can still have a good time. And oh boy, in New Orleans that can mean a lot of things. We danced, we sang, we ate, we drank, and we laughed. We met new friends, saw new shows, and even marched in an impromptu parade. It was rejuvenating in all of the ways that getting out of your element can be.

I think that all travelers are aware, somewhere in the backs of their minds, that there is only so much control you can have on a trip anyway. Some folks resist it as much as possible: they get pushy, assertive and authoritative when planes get stuck on the runway due to mechanical errors; they start to hiss and raise their voices when delays happen. Most of these things are out of our control. They end up being out of the control of the people who we pay to take care of us while we are traveling: the rental car agents, the gate agents, the hotel concierges. Runways close, and airports shut down traffic as a result of bad weather. We want a certain level of customer service from these providers, but sometimes they can only raise their hands and politely remind us that there is very little they can do.

When our flight to New York City was delayed during our layover in Milwaukee, we shrugged it off and planned on having a long and relaxed happy hour. When our flight was cancelled, we groaned and knew we had a long night of re-working our travel plans. When we were informed we’d be spending two more days in Milwaukee and getting back to NYC just in time to miss a different flight out, we knew we had to brace ourselves and figure out a new plan. That plan happened to involve a rental car, a 20+ hour drive, a stop in Chicago, and finding a Statue of Liberty in a place calling itself Center of The World, Ohio.

It was not easy, or the most pleasant experience though neither was it downright miserable. I think this is partly because once we made the decision to drive; there weren’t any other options other than ‘head east’. Head east at 75-80 MPH, since the Midwest highways are flat, and the speed limits are high.

When we finally got home and were feeling human again after a long shower, Katie and I started to reflect on our journey: on the good food, the dancing, and the driving. We talked about the choices we made, and the way we felt revived. Under the exhaustion from 30+ hours of traveling, I began to notice that by surrendering myself to the spontaneous, I felt more prepared in my ability to manage the stress of the cancelled flight. This is the meaning of the old adage “expect the unexpected”, and this strategy saved me a lot of anger and frustration in Milwaukee. Looking back, I feel a new strength from having learned that going with the flow means spontaneous fun as well as well as stress. It is important to know that you can do it both because you want to, and because you have no other choice.

Medication is supposed to make us feel better. According to the Mayo Clinic, more than 2/3 of Americans take prescription medication. Advertisements promise relief for any number of conditions, from debilitating and chronic illness, to help quitting smoking or getting it up. The fine print: a laundry list of side effects, many of which are relatively harmless, but in rare cases could be ‘potentially life-threatening’. Often the promise of relief from what ails us is worth the risk. Statistics suggest that it is unlikely any particular individual will suffer extreme side effects, so we visit our doctor, get an Rx, and pop our pills to make the pain to go away.

What happens when we become the one who experiences the rare, but serious side effects? In 2014, nearly 900,000 serious negative reactions were reported to the FDA, more than 94,000 of which were deaths. While drug companies must notify consumers of potential side effects, there is little mandate on what has to be done when patients report serious ones. So how can we know, really, what kind of risk a particular drug poses- and to whom- without analysis of this data? Without it, we can’t be sure that we won’t end up in more pain as a result of something that was supposed to make us better.

In the summer of 2008 I sought professional treatment for chronic migraines. I had suffered from them since I was a child, and as anyone who has ever experienced them can tell you, they are absolute agony. Migraines are something of a mystery. Unlike other kinds of headaches that can be traced to eyestrain, bad posture, or muscle tension, migraines are linked to the dilation or construction of blood vessels in the brain, so what ‘triggers’ each episode, or each sufferer, can be different. This also makes them insanely difficult to treat.

I tried everything to manage them myself. I kept an exhaustive diary: I listed foods I ate and at what time, what activities I was doing, noise levels, and the kind of light that I was exposed to. I could find no correlation between this data and the frequency or severity of my migraines.

Finally, with a college career demanding focus and migraines often cutting into class and study time, I decided that I needed to address the issue. A cyst in my brain further complicated matters and I sought consultation with a neurologist who suggested I try a recently approved antiepileptic drug, Topamax. My doctor wrote out the prescription and warned me that while getting used to the drug I might “feel….a little bit blonde. So just sit tight until you’re used to it.”

Blonde, I thought, was kind of a silly way to describe a set of side effects- but whatever; I would give anything to find a life without fear of ninjas using throwing stars inside of my head. I had lived in pain for long enough.

Starting on Topamax was pretty uneventful. I was home for a summer internship at the time, and my behavior was standard: forgotten lunches, and misplaced work I.D.s. After a few days though, I started exhibiting erratic behavior: intense mania and creativity followed by forgotten deadlines, or entire projects. I was worried I would be fired for this behavior, and took to avoiding my supervisor. I started losing things more, and remembering things less.

I felt trapped in my own head, as if my body was on autopilot and my brain was just along for the ride. I was unable to express my feelings about the matter because I had difficulty recalling them in order to give them words. As a result I grew increasingly irritable, suffering mood swings and bouts of terrible anxiety. My doctor said to just be patient. I had zero recollection of tasks I was asked to complete, conversations with friends, or even whether or not I had eaten. Eventually I no longer trusted myself to drive to work, so I started carpooling with my coworker.

The final straw came one day when my mom asked me to run out for some cat food from the grocery store. A harmless errand, on roads I knew like the back of my hand, for an item that was more or less as familiar as my own toothbrush.

Four hours later she called, asking where I was. Though I cannot recall most of this period in time, I remember the worry in her voice and the long pause when I told her that I did not know.

I had driven 50 miles away, aimlessly. I didn’t remember the drive, or even why I left my house. Someone came and picked me up, and I spent the entirety of the car ride home crying, unsure exactly as to why I was so upset.

When I got home, I was so angry and sad that I locked myself in the bathroom, counted every single one of my pills, and then flushed them all down the toilet. In retrospect, NEVER EVER DO THIS. For one thing, dissolved prescription medication can contaminate local water supplies. For another, abruptly changing or stopping the dosage of medications can make things much worse.

In researching Topamax to tell this story I discovered that the risk of seizures and psychosis greatly increases when you abruptly end the medication. This explains why my mania, paranoia, and anxiety continued even after I stopped. I would go through most of my day in a fugue state: outwardly o.k., but inwardly a roiling mess of ups and downs. One day, however, I cracked again. A coworker found me under my desk, crying without knowing why.

I talked to my doctor shortly thereafter: he made sure that I was not suicidal, and then he informed me that I would have to wait for my system to flush it out on its own. Since I had already decided to stop without consulting him beforehand there wasn’t anything he could do to lessen the side effects of withdrawal.

Eventually the mania subsided, and my body stopped feeling like a cage. I was able to vocalize what had happened to my doctor and my loved ones with greater clarity, and to better understand the severity of my reactions. While not entirely migraine free, I have been able to manage without the need for prescription medication for a few years. I approach prescriptions more cautiously now, in particular those with the potential to generate extreme psychological effects. I research and consult with multiple providers, explaining my history, and am careful to track my emotions and metal states when I start any new medication. Often I forego prescriptions altogether. I realize that there are people who do not have that luxury, and for whom prescription treatments have immeasurably improved quality of life. I understand that for many folks, finding the right medication and dosage is a journey that can involve trial and tribulation. I hope it never involves your medication making you feel psychotic. We often assume that we couldn’t possibly be the ‘rare and severe’ case, but the truth of the matter is: it could be anyone.

Like many of you, I had a lot of romantic notions about my career; and like a lot of things about romance, the granting of a Masters degree did not suddenly grant these wishes. I enrolled in grad school as a way to make myself more ‘employable’ while also pursuing a field I found deeply fascinating. I used to think that the jobs I wanted were largely traditional 9-5s, and I longed for an office, salary & benefits, and PTO. My education largely reinforced this fantasy, as my field deeply is entrenched in the belief of an office culture with structured career paths, trajectories that involve a lot of ladder climbing, and management. For me, this mindset was dangerous and disastrous, as it reinforced a very narrow view of what constituted worthwhile work, and actively discouraged me from getting more involved in start-ups and taking on new non-office opportunities.

I chose to pursue what I thought constituted a ‘real’ planning job and the constant stress of trying to land one was taking an increasingly extreme toll on my quality of life. I got heart-broken after second and third round interviews, after meeting the executive directors, and after completing trial projects only to be turned down for more competitive candidates with 10-15 years more experience than I. I was unprepared for it at the time, but being 23 with an M.s. and little practical office experience makes you a gamble against candidates with the same graduate skills, but much more comprehensive management ones.

My mentors have told me that this is ‘the nature of the beast’ as if I should accept this reality and continue to struggle and obsess; continue to turn down other work that I want to be doing but had previously written off as somehow lesser in order to go home and fill out online applications. I didn’t get exhausted by the effort required to pursue things I love, or by the challenges that a competitive economy and tight job market present. I didn’t even get tired of finding jobs to apply to, my field is vast and interesting. The honest truth is that I got tired of trying to achieve something without stopping to consider why I wanted it.

I sat down and thought about why I really wanted a certain kind of job, and then began to list all of my priorities in life alongside my goals for employment. Money is hardly at the top of the list for me right now, but with student loan debt and an NYC apartment I need a certain level of income. With careful planning and tools to help manage my time and contracts, and the ability to balance both (and this is crucial) monthly and longer term budgeting, a stable income is not unattainable for freelancers. When my contracts are low, I have a client I consult with on food and beverage education who wants as many hours as I am willing to give. Though it is not directly related to urban planning, this is a blessing when I need to balance my budget or handle a large unforeseen expense. I am learning that life is a balancing act of choices and priorities: I want a certain level of freedom in employment, so sometimes I work in ways I might not usually.

After a stable income, there are many more priorities that work beyond a 9-5 gives me. I like flexibility: I enjoy having the freedom to travel, to rearrange my schedule if I need to, and to be able to get to my family in an emergency. I enjoy dynamism, too. I have long said I am worried that a traditional ‘desk job’ would bore me, and when I am bored the quality of my work is atrocious. I want to feel as if I am doing something worthwhile with the degrees I have, and something that makes some kind of difference on the world around me.

Despite the growing number of people turning to self-employment, there are plenty who don’t think I am making worthwhile decisions on how to spend my time or energy, and are dubious about my ability to support myself. My family asks about how I am, curiosity comingled with what I can tell is a small measure of concern for their girl who did things the way she was taught but is starting to reinvent them for herself now. I am advancing my career, I have started my own business, and I am doing it on my terms. I would be lying if I said I never took what anyone else has said about my choices personally, but eventually I have accepted that I cannot force anyone else to understand my reasons and I am not required to justify my happiness with them either.

You may find yourself without a choice if the people you really want to work for and the work that you want to do are no longer predominantly salaried or secure options. I am here because I decided that struggling for two years aspiring to something that wasn’t working out just wasn’t worth the pain and stress of constantly feeling professionally unfulfilled and inadequate.

People who strike out on their own take a lot of risk, but I have experienced tremendous satisfaction in having a direct impact on others as a result of pursuing targeted writing, consulting and teaching posts. The more time I spend with clients, in communities doing planning work, developing and refining my teaching pedagogy, researching, and writing on urban environments, the more enriched and enlivened I feel about the diverse work that I do. Not everything I do is specifically ‘planning’ related, and not everything I do for money is glamorous. I am learning about the professional world in leaps and bounds, partially because of the great risk I am taking starting a business. I am confident in the knowledge that my successes and failures are my own, and that the things I am learning will help me in all of my future employment.

There are endless discussions about the way the world values different kinds of employment, about who is doing it, and how we can ensure that everyone feels valued and fairly treated in the work that they do. I have done work I did not want to, and I do work now that others would not wish for. The further away I get from the notion that there is one kind of real or valuable work, and instead many options that are as flexible and varied as the billions of people working in them, the more I am convinced that there are no real jobs, just real people working them.

It’s hard out there ladies. Urban cycling has taken off in the last few decades, with ridership up dramatically around the country. In some parts of New York City alone, more than 18,000 people use bicycles daily. With increases in cycling have come improvements to city streets- like bike lanes that are clearly marked and protected, greenways that take cyclists off the streets and into park like settings, incentives for bike-friendly workplaces, and bike share systems popping up all over the country.

As with any group there are a lot of dimensions to what I will refer to as ‘bike culture’. A great many activists continue to lobby for improved bike infrastructure in isolated and underserved areas, others seek better policing of vehicles that maim and often kill cyclists. There are leisure clubs, fitness clubs, clubs for kids in poor neighborhoods to learn how to build bikes and gain life skills, clubs for long distance touring; there are rides for charity and for activism. New York City in particular still has a major contingent of bicycle messengers despite the fact that modern technology has largely replaced two wheels as the fastest way to transport sensitive documents around the city. There are shows and events for weird bikes, homemade bikes, and fancy bikes. There are new frame builders creating beautiful lines and simple machines that have, quite literally, changed my life.

Sometimes I sit and think about all of the ways to be part of bike culture and I wonder why there aren’t more women on the streets with me. Mind you- there are a ton, but for every lady on a bike there are 10 men, and many of my friends say they would never start urban cycling for a variety of reasons.  Since the invention of the bicycle it would seem as if women have been discouraged either explicitly or implicitly from shedding their training wheels as it were and hitting the pavement in the big city. Indeed, we have been warned of “bike face”, we have had arbitrary rules crafted for us, and we have received some of the most foul-mouthed harassment I have ever had the displeasure of experiencing when bicycling.

But the bicycle as a pathway to freedom, the future of increased mobility and adventure is a key component to women’s empowerment. After a conversation with my roommate the other night in which we discussed how we felt on bikes, I started asking some of my other friends who ride (or don’t ride) bicycles about their experiences. I wanted to talk more about the barriers to greater visibility of women in the bicycling world, and about the great rewards of integrating bicycles into our lives. Some common themes have emerged from these conversations: as women we experience specific sexual harassment on bikes, we find that shops often treat us with condescension, we have difficulty finding gear and bikes that suit our needs and our personalities, and we see few representations of women in the cycling world that offer us a diverse idea of how we might find joy and health on two wheels. We enjoy bicycling because it keeps us healthy, because it is a challenge, and because we get to be outside and see new places. We enjoy it because we like going really fast, because we get panic attacks in the subway, and because we do it for a living. Understanding a few things about the bike world by now, women actually enjoy biking for many of the same reasons as men, we just aren’t noticed nearly as much.

I lived in New York City for almost three years before I got my first bike. Let’s use the term ‘bike’ loosely here though. With the help of a good friend I salvaged an absolutely ancient Motobecane from a barn somewhere upstate. I gave it blue handlebar tape, and for some reason named it Jaques. He was so French. This bike wanted to kill me, and indeed almost did four or five times with faulty breaks, an absolutely insane bottom bracket, and a bent fork. Jaques finally went to the Bike Rack in the sky after I rode him through the floodwaters of the Gowanus Canal during Hurricane Irene.

Having a troublesome bicycle taught me a lot about bikes. I learned that the machine will always break. I learned that this is often because of user error, and I learned that if you dedicate yourself to understanding how the bike works you can reduce those first two down several percentage points. I felt competent fixing my own flat tires. I felt like I was part of the club, that elite and mysterious group of people who can manage to commute 30+ miles per day and not only NOT look like a rat drowing in their own sweat but be glowing.

I also learned that when you start becoming a person who bikes as their main form of transportation you are going to be hungry all of the time. I was eating everything and I was getting stronger. Holy crap, I had muscles in my thighs and I could see them and they could get me over bridges. Damn bridges. I felt strong, I felt powerful, and hot damn I felt really beautiful on my bike.

I’ve been a cyclist for 4 years now, primarily as a commuter. I do it because 9 times out of 10 my bike is just as fast, if not faster, than the subway. I do it because even if it is slower, it has a breeze and I can avoid the insane crowding of rush hour trains. I do it because it provides enough exercise that I can eat basically whatever I want and not see my physical health decline. It gives me freedom, it gives me a boost of energy, and reminds me that while there are things in this world that are out of my control, when I am on my bike I am quite deliberately in my own hands.

I have noticed however, that I get treated differently as a woman who is a cyclist. The greatest difference is the street harassment. I am more boldly, more vulgarly harassed when I am stopped at a light or riding past a group of men than I have ever been walking around the city. I have never seen a male cyclist experience the vitriolic objectification that my lady friends and I receive. No, you cannot have a ride. Ugh. I am treated differently in bike shops as well. Sometimes staff will use a tone of voice that I might expect from someone addressing a petulant child, or a person who asks really plainly obvious questions. I am not asking if the sky is blue, I am asking you to explain to me the difference between this or that part, or service. I am asking you to be very clear about the kinds of things you are going to do to my trusted machine, that I care very much about, and that I expect you to care a lot about too. Many of my friends lament a lack of mechanics that are women, and of women’s specific gear (clothing, parts, accessories). It can be difficult to feel like part of a group if your voice, your body, and your personality cannot be represented by it.

How do we break down these barriers and increase both physical and perceived access to cycling for women everywhere? I believe that encouraging and supporting women-owned bicycle shops and groups like WEBike and Recycle A Bicycle (Best Lady Mechanics Ever) would be a great start to creating spaces and businesses where women feel they have shared interests and goals. Local shops could consider stocking riding gear like panniers and messenger bags that focus less on the sporty and speed-oriented aspects of a considerable part of the bicycling world- the growing prominence of gear that is focused on commuter-friendly styles and colors that can go from bike to other situations (work, a night out etc) is encouraging, but these brands sometimes have to be dug out of what feels like the bottom of very specific Google searching. I would love to see more articles, interviews, and videos showcasing women who totally nailed their Century, who are in Cross races, who are messengers, who are riding just as hard and fast as anyone else out there on the road.

Bicycling in an urban environment can be intimidating to anyone. Reflecting upon the experiences of women is not meant to discount those of any other group of cyclists. In a sport and culture geared primarily towards men, there are no doubt countless different stories to be told from the perspectives of the LGBTQ community, immigrants, and even the kinds of cycling involved. There are incredible organizations doing work centered on delivery cyclists, cycling for parents, and the disabled. I hope all of them find voices and visibility: I want bike culture to reflect the diversity of the people out there on the road, and women are a big part of that.

I used to teach at a college where the student body was predominantly from low-income communities of color in every single borough of New York City. Many of my classes discussed the history of New York City, Environmental Science, or often a combination of both. Beyond the standard textbook, my subject matter focused on social inequality, political equity, empowerment, racial injustice, environmental justice, and of course, gentrification.

I studied urban planning and community-based planning methods in grad school and am well versed in the mechanics of neighborhood change, the tragedies of displacement, and the cycles of boom and bust in urban communities. I am, however reluctantly, part of the very phenomenon I have been trained to dislike (by educators, activists, my own ethics). I live in the Central Brooklyn neighborhood of Bedford Stuyvesant. The neighborhood is vibrant, and I love it, but it is certainly experiencing pressure from increased costs of goods, services, and housing as the result of new residents moving in.

The first time I ever confronted the issue of gentrification with my students I was honest about all of these things. I was worried that my students wouldn’t trust me, or worse, would outright dislike me because of my impact. The conversation was surprisingly easy — I have come to learn that talking about how neighborhoods change seems an almost distinctly New York pastime. We discussed how it was getting harder and harder to find an affordable apartment in places like Harlem, Bed-Stuy, and Bushwick. Older students discussed how they would not have been able to afford to stay in their neighborhoods of Carroll Gardens, or Fort Greene had they not owned their homes. Younger students casually probed to see if we hung out in the same bars.

Eventually I confessed that I was sometimes worried about my impact on the neighborhood where I live. I am keenly aware that I can pay more than residents who may have lived in my area longer as the result of a higher annual income — this drives up rental prices. I like coffee shops, and bars, and restaurants that might follow people like me into neighborhoods that they may have avoided due to the perception of low profit opportunities (grocery stores are notorious for this). These businesses might not be affordable to the people living in a neighborhood or worse, might edge out long-time local spots and their customers.

The idea that my presence might actually hurt a place that I moved to specifically because I liked its businesses, its diversity, and its history is disheartening. I listened to my students vilify the change that made the places they loved inaccessible.

As it turns out, there are some steps you can take to mitigate the blow your presence has on the people who already live there. I have learned these by paying attention to trends in land use and business, by adhering to a set of values that prioritize community over the individual, and quite frankly, by asking the people I might be impacting.

1. Get to know your neighbors: This might seem like common sense, but the majority of American Adults don’t know their neighbors. You are moving in, and people have noticed. I promise. Do not do the thing where you pretend not to notice the people who notice you. This is not a subway car, this is your new home. Moreover, this is their home already. While it might feel scary/weird, approach your neighbors with a smile and a hello. Find out their names, how long they’ve been in the neighborhood, and then remember this information. Knowing who my neighbors are has been invaluable: from having access to their cute cats when I need a furry snuggle to feeling relief and safety when I see them outside and I’ve been rattled by life. Ignoring your neighbors will set up an instant us vs. them binary and can be painful if anyone is ever in a situation where they need help.

2. Find your common ground: You probably have more in common than you think. Start with your big unifier: you both live in the same place. Maybe you enjoy the architecture, the local businesses, the affordability- whatever it is. Seek to make connections with them based on shared values/hobbies/or traits. You might be surprised what you find, and this is where the you can prevent assumptions being made about your motives in moving to an area while starting to integrate yourself into the existing social fabric.

3. Familiarize yourself with the history of your neighborhood: You don’t need to watch that one Ric Burns documentary. You don’t even need to crack a book really. If you googled your neighborhood you might have gotten some good information and I hope you at least read the Wikipedia page. Not only is it interesting when you find out that the Bronx gets its name from the Dutch farmer Jonas Bronc or that there is a wooden sidewalk in Greenpoint; you might also discover some context about why certain buildings exist, or why different groups of people might be present or missing from your area. Another great way to learn is to bring it up when you’re talking to your neighbors. People love talking about their communities, and sharing stories on your stoop can be a valuable way to bond with your new home.

4. Patronize local businesses and long-time neighborhood establishments: If you have moved into a new neighborhood, you should shop there. I do not care how much you love Trader Joes or Whole Foods or Chipotle. There are many benefits to patronizing local businesses. You get to know your neighbors (see point 1) who often own and operate their own services, shops, restaurants, and bars, and the dollars you spend stay in your community instead of being sent somewhere else. You will often find far more reasonable prices, and the value of face-to-face interaction and general neighborliness has saved me time and money when trying to purchase goods and services in Bed-Stuy.

5. Recommend them: Bring your friends to them, follow them on their social media, and leave them yelp reviews. If you have enjoyed a local place find the owner and let them know. Nearly every time I have left glowing reviews with people who value my business, I am treated exceptionally upon my return. Not only that, but when you encounter these folks in other scenarios you will find that good will has followed you out into the community.

6. Get out of your comfort zone: I have had several encounters where it is very clear that I am unwelcome and perceived as a sign of unwanted change by people in my neighborhood. I don’t blame them- when we feel people are invading our territory we put up defenses. You must be patient and kind, and it is your job to prove that you love where you live and care about other residents and businesses. Often this becomes clear when you shop at a baker instead of a grocery store, at the ‘old school’ food joint instead of the new gastropub, and at the local coffee shop instead of the starbucks.

7. Pay attention to unspoken rules: Figure out what local faux-pas are. This might mean you turn down your stereo. This might mean you deal with loud sidewalk parties all summer long. Acceptable behavior is monitored by citizens themselves. Figure out what flies on your block or in your neighborhood and try your best not to seem like a jerk by trampling all over the unwritten social code.

8. Get active in quality of life issues: Someone in your neighborhood is tackling issues that you think are important. How do I know? Because people, while each their individual snowflake selves, still have basic needs and rally together to hold the City accountable for providing them. Do you care about healthy food? Find a community garden with open work hours. Go to community meetings (You can find out about your local community board on NYC.gov) and check out what is happening at community centers, and with your elected officials. I guarantee you will find a way to be involved in helping your neighborhood become a better place for everyone.

9. Do not demand changes to suit your lifestyle/values/or ethics: If you moved into an industrial or mixed use neighborhood, do not start calling 311 about how large trucks and the businesses that need them are loud or unsightly. If you moved into a middle-income community do not advocate for a Whole Foods that is not affordable to your neighbors. You do not live alone, and you must respect the way a neighborhood worked before you arrived in order to move forward productively once you have settled in.

10. Think about your choices: The average number of people that Americans feel they know very well has declined considerably in recent years, and with it has gone our ability to relate. Conversations about neighborhood change with my students were often charged with a resentment for newcomers perceived as trying to change the area to suit themselves without being involved in community-wide issues. This kind of self-centeredness can underscore differences between groups and generate disinterest and contempt. You have made the choice to move into a new community. It is not already yours, and the things that you do (including the rent you are able to pay, the goods you would like to buy, and the businesses you would like to frequent) can all create massive changes in the structure of an already existing neighborhood. Thinking critically about the choice to be a part of your community or simply have a bedroom in it will save you time wondering why so many New Yorkers bemoan the ‘new people’ on the block.

This article was published on Thought Catalog.