The Art Of Loving And Leaving New York
Today is the day a 28 foot container will arrive in front of my house here in Brooklyn. It's here for my things - all of them - well almost all of them. Every worldly possesion that need not accompany me on my flight to San Francisco at the end of this week.
I left New York the first time in 1996. I'd not yet turned 24 and spent 18 months living in Williamsburg, Brooklyn pre-trucker-hat-chic. That exit was far from graceful. I half ass packed up the furniture and music studio that'd been strewn throughout the palacial 7 room railroad apartment I lived in and hired an Israeli moving company to come and take my things away. I didn't know where I was *really* going; the geographic destination was San Francisco but where my life would take me once I arrived was a mystery to me.
There were no going away parties, no sappy goodbyes, no hugs - I had all of 2 friends here in New York and they were both so busy with whatever they had going that I think I probably got a phone call from each of them. Instead, on my last day, hours before my flight left, I set out to wander Broadway looking for the shoe shop I'd purchased a pair of Frye's boots from; I can't remember why exactly but there was something that needed to be done there.
This time around I approached my departure with a different attitude. I put a fair amount of effort into the quality of my exit. Saying goodbye in a celebratory manner, I threw myself a little going away party. Sentiments were exchanged, drinks and food were consummed and hugs and kisses were had all around. This time there was love.
"I made people in New York love me!" I gleefully remarked to my boyfriend waiting for me up in Northern California. He knew that what I meant was that here in New York, where the air is riddled with aggression and territorial conflict there are people who will miss my presence. It seemed like a feat to me.
There is a lot about New York that I still don't completely understand. The hostility, humidity, people's worship of a place that boasts excess that strikes me as criminal and hosts poverty that in contrast is deplorable. But what I've learned is that part of living in New York is embracing that which is inexplicable instead of turning one's nose up. I can't say that I really like it here but I do love it; it's a place where love is so needed *because* it can be such a hideous place.
Today is the day a 28 foot container will arrive in front of my house here in Brooklyn. It's here for my things - all of them - well almost all of them. Every worldly possesion that need not accompany me on my flight to San Francisco at the end of this week.
I left New York the first time in 1996. I'd not yet turned 24 and spent 18 months living in Williamsburg, Brooklyn pre-trucker-hat-chic. That exit was far from graceful. I half ass packed up the furniture and music studio that'd been strewn throughout the palacial 7 room railroad apartment I lived in and hired an Israeli moving company to come and take my things away. I didn't know where I was *really* going; the geographic destination was San Francisco but where my life would take me once I arrived was a mystery to me.
There were no going away parties, no sappy goodbyes, no hugs - I had all of 2 friends here in New York and they were both so busy with whatever they had going that I think I probably got a phone call from each of them. Instead, on my last day, hours before my flight left, I set out to wander Broadway looking for the shoe shop I'd purchased a pair of Frye's boots from; I can't remember why exactly but there was something that needed to be done there.
This time around I approached my departure with a different attitude. I put a fair amount of effort into the quality of my exit. Saying goodbye in a celebratory manner, I threw myself a little going away party. Sentiments were exchanged, drinks and food were consummed and hugs and kisses were had all around. This time there was love.
"I made people in New York love me!" I gleefully remarked to my boyfriend waiting for me up in Northern California. He knew that what I meant was that here in New York, where the air is riddled with aggression and territorial conflict there are people who will miss my presence. It seemed like a feat to me.
There is a lot about New York that I still don't completely understand. The hostility, humidity, people's worship of a place that boasts excess that strikes me as criminal and hosts poverty that in contrast is deplorable. But what I've learned is that part of living in New York is embracing that which is inexplicable instead of turning one's nose up. I can't say that I really like it here but I do love it; it's a place where love is so needed *because* it can be such a hideous place.
posted by Stacia @ 5:17 AM
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