We recently moved our family back to New York City after an unexpected sixteen months in the suburbs. We had never intended to leave but, well, you know.
I wish I could say I was one of those people who only sees the wonder in NYC.
I am not.
There are days when I get mad at NYC. When I desperately miss the ease of suburban living. When I curse alternate side of the street parking, the 18” dishwasher that requires multiple daily loads to accommodate the bottles my toddler accumulates. When I try to exercise in my 10x10 living room with my wife working 5” inches a way and I hit my head on the overhead lighting because there is no recessed lighting in NYC.
On these days, it is anger that I feel most acutely towards the thousands of little annoyances that one must accept, ignore or just shrug away when one chooses to live here.
But then the city find ways to delight me in ways I never anticipated. After sixteen months away, everything is new again. Sure, there’s poop everywhere, but the architecture of the Upper West Side fascinates me in a way the suburban homes bored me.
And running around the Reservoir inspires me in a way that could never compete with the cul-de-sac.
The joy of sipping my coffee while roaming this way and then that. It’s so utterly just so, and yet so utterly perfect. My son sitting in the grass in Riverside Park, or cooing along the city streets as we stroll him to daycare.
Stuffing bottles into the dishwasher I look up and see the glow of the setting sun bouncing off the windows of these pre-war cathedrals. I wish I could explain it, or say it doesn’t transfix me, but I can’t. This city has me wrapped around its finger.
I can’t say we’ll be New Yorkers for life. That’s not us. But, for now, we’re back.
