Park Slope. Photo courtesy of Google Earth.

The name “Brooklyn, New York” instantly conjures up an endless diversity of impressions and images. There are, in fact, many different “Brooklyns,” each with a reputation that extends well beyond the East River. Those who follow any of the many recent New York-based television shows might think of young hipsters, self-righteous in their detachment from the Manhattan economic elite. Others may have a more antiquated conception of Jewish comedians and Italian restaurant owners. Another group will immediately think of emerging hip-hop artists in the 1980s, or perhaps notorious social riots in the early 90s.

For most of my life, I only knew one Brooklyn. Growing up in Park Slope, a relatively affluent and trendy neighborhood, the world seemed like an endless stretch of brownstone townhouses, wide sidewalks, coffee shops and real-estate agencies. Park Slope almost has the feel of a small town, fixed in the midst of lesser-known areas. With its own variation of a “main street” (7th avenue), it’s complete with a picturesque and locally iconic church steeple. As for its inhabitants, a friend of mine put it best when she described the cliques of trendy teenagers, who ridicule the constant influx of yuppies from Manhattan, “even as they sip their chai lattes.”

This comfortable childhood came to a sudden conclusion at the age of 17, when skyrocketing rents forced my family out of Park Slope and into Midwood — a predominantly Hasidic Jewish, mixed-income neighborhood deep in the interior of Brooklyn.

While just about every subway line in Brooklyn seemed to make its way through Park Slope at some point, only the Q passes through Midwood. Traveling across the vast expanse of inner Brooklyn, dotted by occasional commercial streets, I often felt like I was riding the trans-Siberian railroad rather than a New York subway. In place of trendy cafes was an endless barrage of unenticing eateries offering specialties like Chinese food or kosher pizza. And on Saturday — the day of the Jewish Sabbath — the neighborhood became a ghost town. While even some of Brooklyn’s most notoriously economically depressed and dangerous neighborhoods began to experience the arrival of trendy Manhattanites, my family and I seemed to be stranded as émigrés in the one neighborhood of New York that refused to be culturally gentrified.

Midwood. Photo courtesy of Google Earth.

Initially, living in Midwood for me meant staying inside the house or else proceeding directly to the Q train. To my frustration, subway service was no longer an absolute. During one incidence, the Q stopped running altogether at around 10 p.m., and I was forced to improvise an annoyingly circuitous route via other subway lines, bus and foot before finally reaching home an hour and a half later. “Welcome to the rest of Brooklyn,” a friend who lived in Canarsie commiserated with me. “Bus detours through congested traffic and midnight death walks through scary neighborhoods.” That comment affected me. It could be frustrating to live in Midwood, but in that frustration was a new sense of solidarity with the rest of the world — the real world.

At that moment, I started to appreciate Midwood for its atmosphere of reality, as well as its diversity. Midwood, though largely Jewish, is about as diverse as a neighborhood can be. A sizeable Pakistani population exists, along with a large number of African-Americans. While I never stopped missing the comfort and aesthetic beauty of Park Slope, I began to understand the value of living in a place where so many different social groups can coexist.

One night at around midnight, I was walking down the street to my house when I heard someone behind me. Turning around, I saw a black teenager wearing baggy pants and a doo-rag. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I’m not coming after you. If you’d like, you can cross the street.” I was immediately struck by what a nice gesture that was. He had recognized that, through no fault of his own, my impression of him might cause me to be afraid of him. Instead of passing judgment, he offered to accommodate any possible fears I had. Reflecting back on that incident, I realize now what it means to exist in a diverse environment, and how grateful I am for the experience.

For many people, the attraction of New York lies in its famous sites or perhaps its museums and theaters. There are others who scoff at tourists who come just to see those things, remarking that the real beauty of New York lies in the unique personality of its cafes, street vendors and art galleries. For me, neither of these notions does justice to the real virtue of New York. To experience the cosmopolitan majesty of New York is to become acquainted with all of the many different Brooklyns and Manhattans that make the city truly diverse.