The light of morning illuminated the Manhattan skyline as my plane touched down at Newark Liberty International Airport. My heart skipped a beat at the sight of the city I’d left almost exactly three years earlier, the city I’d left in search of greener pastures.
My one-year stint three years earlier in the city that never sleeps came about purely by chance. I’d landed on the east coast while still pursuing a career in nutrition, and while completing my dietetic internship a stone’s throw away in New Haven, Connecticut, I’d become quite charmed by New York. I spent long weekends there visiting friends as an escape from my gritty neighborhood and the mundane nightlife scene in New Haven, and with each visit found myself more and more intrigued.
The idea to move to New York occurred to me sometime in the last few months of my internship. I knew that if I left the east coast, I’d likely never come back; I still fancied myself a west coast girl, after all, and I couldn’t yet imagine a life without mountains and pristine blue rivers and the Pacific Ocean a quick drive away.
I wanted to give the east coast one more chance to impress me, so once the decision was made, I scrambled to find a place to call my future home. As luck would have it, a friend of a friend happened to be seeking a new roommate, and I jumped on the opportunity. I knew nothing of the neighborhood I would soon be calling home other than the fact that it was “uptown.” I moved in with my two new roommates near 125th and Broadway in a neighborhood called Morningside Heights and began seeking work to pay for my rather reasonably priced but inconveniently located room.
Those first few months in New York were nothing short of romantic. I discovered my love for electronic music, I had a whirlwind love affair, I found a job that paid the bills and allowed me to live the fast-paced New York City lifestyle I so desired. I wasn’t working as a dietitian, however, as I had long-since realized that career path wasn’t for me and finally found the courage to say it–and I was happier for it.
Winter settled in, however, along with dissatisfaction at my job, frustration with my living situation (both being so far from downtown and that I hadn’t developed any real connection with my roommates), loneliness when that love affair ended quickly and brutally, and a general feeling of “what the *$%#! have I gotten myself into??”
I cried more often than I care to admit, and started guiltily seeking a new place to live. It was the only one of my problems I knew I could fix and hoped desperately that other things would start to look up once I did, and that my roommates wouldn’t resent me for breaking my lease early.
It’s funny how quickly things actually did turn around–I like to remind myself of my year in New York whenever I’m feeling stuck in a particular situation–but that December brought with it a whole slew of good luck, including a new apartment in the East Village and some amazing new friends.
It’s hard to say what really changed that December, but the rest of my time in New York continued to get better and better. I discovered my favorite places to hang out in the city, I knew my way around, I strutted down Broadway with the pace and confidence of a real New Yorker. It finally started to feel like home, and that’s when the real fun began.
They say New York is “the city that never sleeps,” and my one year in New York was without a doubt the most sleepless year of my life. I was having a new love affair; my heart belonged to New York and New York alone.
Needless to say, when the time came for me to leave New York in order to realize my long-standing dream of living and working abroad, tearing myself away felt like torture. I had just found my place in that amazing city, yet I knew I had to follow my heart.
I spent the years after my departure longing to be reunited with the lover that still held my affection. If I ever felt homesick, it was for New York above anyplace else.
When this highly anticipated “homecoming” became a reality, I planned to spend a week in the city. I knew it wouldn’t be enough time–or at least, that’s what I thought.
Arriving to Manhattan, I immediately noticed how different it felt this time around. I was just visiting. I was a tourist. An outsider. My old lover belonged to somebody else now, or perhaps I did.
Revisiting New York WAS amazing in so many ways. I’ll never tire of the interesting people, the beautiful buildings, the excitement and the palpable energy that attracted me to it in the first place. I’ll always feel a connection to the East Village, to Central Park, to the Lower East Side, to Madison Square Park where I always used to end up on my lunch breaks. I’ll never forget the crazy nights out at Pianos or the hungover Sundays sipping mimosas at Three of Cups. I’ll never forget the friends that I made there or the sleepless nights we spent together, huddled up on rooftops watching the sun rise.
I relived some of these memories and I made some new ones, and I’m grateful for the opportunity to do so.
But.
New York no longer has my whole heart. It no longer draws me to it with incredible magnetic force. A piece of me will always be there, and I will always carry a piece of it with me. Maybe someday we’ll find each other again, and things will be different, but just as amazing.
But…
For now, I don’t miss you, New York. And closure is a wonderful thing.
