With love, Downtown Girl

Which stories do we celebrate?

I usually turn the volume on my radio up after my kids’ cello lessons—there’s nothing like blasting modern-day music after listening to classical for an hour straight. I need the contrast.

But this time, I found myself miffed instead of relaxed. Hi, Billy Joel. I wasn’t expecting you.

The melody from “Uptown Girl” rang through my car speakers. My kids tapped their toes and hummed along. I huffed.

Trust me when I say that this is rather untypical for me. I’m known to belt out the “classics,” but I was a little worn from life. At that moment, I could only think about my current financial situation. While anything but dire, there was no more margin where there used to be. Groceries cost more, my mortgage is a little higher, kids’ activities cost more, etc.

I don’t need to bore you with the details, but basically, the math wasn’t mathing on bills recently, and it was getting old. But as a creative, I didn’t want to be held down by a traditional 9-5 job while the kids were in afterschool care. Alas, the starving artist complex works well here. Artists aren’t paid a great wage (and neither are public servants like my husband, despite putting his life on the line every time he goes to work.)

I wasn’t in the mood to hear Billy serenade a girl who didn’t even think about how much everything cost. It was a straight pass for me, dawg. 

That’s when I discovered that I, the worrier of bills and the one who knew about blue-collar life, was a downtown girl.

My immigrant parents worked to the bone to afford everything we had, including our tiny apartment with plastic-covered furniture and flea market decor. We knew how far to stretch $5 toward groceries. Yes, even our electricity was shut off at one point. I grew up playing with public transportation maps and remembering when my parents could finally afford a car to drive to places. 

Even today, our cars aren’t new, and our new-to-us home is older. My children wear consignment sale clothing or what’s on sale at Old Navy. (I also know all too well the thrill and delight of a good sale.)

Still, I let myself get caught up in reverie for the uptown girl. I compared myself to her. But that’s a no from me, dawg. I refuse to silo my own stories from even myself. I needed to show love to myself—the downtown girl.

If you’re a downtown girl, let it be known that your story is worth celebrating. I may not be Billy Joel, but I know Jenny from the Block would sing your praises, too.

So here’s my ode to the downtown girl—the one who worries about bills, the one who is scholarship-eligible, the one who doesn’t mind the thrill of a deal, or even that her life is a little small. I’m singing your song. 

And there’s more to come for you, downtown girl.

XOXO,
Neidy, a Downtown Girl

P.S. I wrote much of this before listening to Beyoncé’s latest. Now, THAT is an album for the downtown girl ;) You should 100% listen to Ya Ya—because downtown girls ought to DANCE.

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I'm a downtown girl
with a technicolor world
Who doesn't mind
the daily grind

Who's songs aren't typical tunes
Of what she does in the afternoons.

But I'm a downtown girl
with a starry-eyed look into the world
Who doesn't ask why
And instead simply tries

Tries to sigh
Doesn't let life go by
without a cry
And testifies

That she's

A downtown girl
Who loves her world

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Some downtown girl favorites:

• A playlist, of course!

• This podcast episode on taxes and race was SO good. Incredibly interesting, and they’re a lot of the questions I’ve asked.

• Excited to share yet another devotional from Well-Watered Women that I participated in! See it here.

• My daughter and I are reading Ferris by Kate DiCamillo for some light reading. But I’m also reading Left to Tell by Immaculee Ilibagiza.

• Speaking of Immaculee, I’m actually going to see her in a month because my husband and I are traveling to Rwanda (!!!) in another month. We’re going with my dear friend Kara, who founded Imana Kids. We’re running workshops and activities and all sorts of support. Interested in supporting us? Give a little here. Seriously—anything helps!

Thank you, thank you, once again, friends, for supporting my work simply by reading it. It means a lot.