Cornelia Street
This summer, my mom and I returned to New York City, together after 14 years. I am now at the age she was when I was living there (which as a mother of a 4 year old is mind-blowing). Our first stop was the adorable oyster bar, Pearl, that opened below my apartment the year that I moved to NYC for school in 1997. I wanted to go back and sit on the street where it all started (and Pearl is owned by a female chef). When telling friends of our plans, Taylor Swift was mentioned multiple times so had me thinking of life on Cornelia Street and the women who came before, after, and with me.
Written by Rebecca
It was 1997 and my dear friend, Kate, and I left Milwaukee for our next chapter- to pursue our art. She a dancer and me to start art school. Twenty-two years before the street became famous as the title and subject of a Taylor Swift song, we moved into a studio apartment, three flights up with a trundle bed to fit us both! Listening to the song now brings back the feelings I had of moving to a new city and the heartbreak of leaving someone who you thought could have been something but wasn’t. A day after we moved in, my grandmother had a heart attack - it felt like I had caused her heart to break. She recovered, but my leaving made her worry more than her usual worry and I remember feeling the weight of that. There was a lot of emotion in that tiny apartment above Pearl Oyster Bar and across the street from what would be Taylor’s apartment for a bit.
There is something magical about that street- one block tucked off busy 6th avenue, it felt protective as though it could hold your secrets and with it the history of those before you. Thinking about the intersection of these women and this street (while listening to Taylor on repeat), I feel transported. I suppose this is why, when returning to the city, it is my first stop- it feels like a return home and the keeper of my previous life and details sometimes forgotten (and perhaps the reason why Taylor would never walk Cornelia Street again if her love was lost).
This summer, as we waited for Pearl to open, a woman (about my age) was waiting with her 7-year old daughter. They, too had come for a mother-daughter reconnect. We both had a history with Pearl- it was her first job out of culinary school years earlier. She specifically wanted to work there, she told us, because she wanted to work for a female restaurant owner and Rebecca Charles was that chef. It felt serendipitous that we were sitting across from one another sharing with my mother and her daughter how this street became part of our story, over a lobster roll. I wish that I knew how delicious oysters were when I was 20! I lived on bagels, pizza, and bodega sandwiches as a college student and lived a life parallel to the restaurants below busy with school and finding my voice.
I like the idea of this continuum of women—that our experiences and connection differ (and may be separated by decades) and yet we have this common thread. There is a seed of each within the other and this influences our voice, our message, our art, our being. Now, when I listen to Taylor Swift or have oysters and think about going to Maine or have the opportunity to see a dance performance, I feel the presence of women I have never met (and one of my oldest friends) and it makes me feel like I am part of something greater- that we are all part of something greater, influenced by place and time , that makes us stronger and solidifies our resilience and beauty. This brings me comfort at a time when our voices as women feel threatened. I am grateful to those who have blazed the trails (or street) before me and while I didn’t actually live across the street from Taylor Swift, I am hopeful that her beautiful voice carries with it a little piece of each of us.