Most Meaningful Town in New Jersey

tenacity (noun): the quality of being very determined; persistance

When I was in high school, I was elected President for our American Red Cross chapter.

The local American Red Cross met in Ridgewood on Sundays and I was asked if I could attend each weekly meeting with the other high school leads to represent our school’s chapter. I agreed immediately. I felt that I owned that responsibility, you know, being the President and all.

Without checking Google maps or considering how I’d even get there, I committed.

Soon I found out — through my first time experiencing it — that it would take me over 2 hours to arrive to Ridgewood and I would need to make sure I caught the last bus out of town if I wanted to make it home. I had to make 1 transfer and take 2 buses and then walk over.

This was before Uber and Lyft existed.

And my father did not give me a ride places. He operated on his own schedule and I was raised not to disturb it. A local Korean taxi would cost north of $40, one way.

So that left me with good old NJ Transit, which I am no stranger to as I’d been taking the buses to the mall and to New York since I was about 11.

The thing with public transportation on the weekends is that it’s unreliable and at the time, the NJ Transit buses were rarely on schedule. I would catch the 1st bus out to Teaneck and walk a couple blocks down Cedar Lane to a different bus stop to make the transfer. The 2nd bus would take 40-50 minutes to finally arrive.

I would curse so much when it was winter and I’d be standing outside, waiting in the freezing cold. I was practicing breathing techniques before I even knew about Wim Hof.

The 2nd bus ride was longer than the 1st and it would take me straight into Ridgewood, which is a cute, little, upper middle class predominately white neighborhood. It had a train station and a main street with shops and restaurants. There was something about this town, like it was out of a storybook. It made me feel cozy.

I’d arrive to the American Red Cross building and go around the back entrance to join the other high school students inside. I remember the feeling of entering a warm place after walking from the bus stop. The blood would rush back to my cheeks. I could feel my fingers again.

The meeting room had that kind of thin carpet, fluorescent lighting, and the vibes of your local library.

After we finished, I’d ring my father in hopes that he was in the area and might be willing to give me a ride back. Some days, he’d say yes but again, on his schedule. I’d say bye to my high school friends and the other kids and walk over to the Whole Foods next door, where I’d kill time until my father got there.

I spent a lot of time in Whole Foods, mainly reading and looking around since I had no money to buy anything.

On the nights when I got a ride back from my father, I got a lecture in the car every time about how I was wasting so much time volunteering for this.

Sometimes, I was convinced that he was right.

I’d wake up late on Sundays after being up late the night before, wash up, grab a pancake, and then be on my way out the door. By the time I got back home, it was well past 6pm and as the typical high school student, I had so much homework that I kept for last minute of the weekend, of course.

There were several Sundays when I thought deeply about what the fuck I was doing taking my butt all the way across the county for this measly meeting. The talk track I told myself was that Ivy League schools will be impressed with my diverse list of volunteer activities.

But the real reason I kept trekking 2+ hours each way to show face at the American Red Cross meetings is because I said I would do it.

Yeah, it was a commitment I made to our club advisor and my fellow high school school members. If I told them the commute was too much and I wanted to send a proxy, I know they’d understand.

But I said I’d be there.

It was like I made this promise to myself more than I made it my club. I started to hate Ridgewood for being so damn far and not having more frequent bus routes.

In reality, Ridgewood became a representation of my tenacity.

And I knew that in my bones.

I internalized my attendance at that weekly meeting so deeply that if I didn’t show, I felt like I was letting myself down.

I probably knew it then and I definitely know it now that I took the whole thing too seriously.

While I had fun and enjoyed our events together, I really could have opted out and gotten my entire Sundays back. I could’ve told our club advisor that I can’t do it anymore and she would’ve understood. Also, I didn’t get into an Ivy League the next year anyway.

now, 10 years later

I revisited Ridgewood last weekend. This time, I called a Lyft to drive me there and back. I set the drop-off location to the Ridgewood bus terminal so I could re-experience the walk over and everything.

I went to the old American Red Cross building. I stood there for a while and just looked at it. Then, I walked down the streets that I used to hand out flyers on and post them in cafes. Ridgewood still has that same cozy charm, albeit everyone was wearing masks and dining outside in the little town.

Although, I suppose it is more than a little town.

I think back to 16-year old Kaila and I laugh about it. How foolish she was for using her money on bus tickets and using valuable weekend time on this stupid commute. So naive and tunnel vision focused on those American Red Cross Sunday meetings like they were her make-it-or-break-it for an ivy League acceptance.

Foolish, naive, and tenacious.

The town is a representation of my resolve. I have to say I am proud of 10-years-ago me for standing by her decision and showing up that year, no matter what.

74 Godwin Avenue. This is the building where we met for our meetings and where the American Red Cross hosted community events like a Halloween Haunted House, when I once dressed up as a dementor.

The Whole Foods right next to the American Red Cross.

The parking lot of the train station, a couple blocks from Van Neste Square Bus Terminal where I’d be dropped off.