Not long after Ashay and I moved to NYC, he gifted me a book titled Goodbye To All That: Writers on Loving and Leaving New York. He knew, instinctively, that my love for New York would be a grand affair, but he also sensed it would not likely be our forever home. At the time, I didn’t think too much of it. I was intrigued by the compilation of voices, their writing styles, and the stories they told. What I didn’t realize was that, in just a few short years, I would become an ex-New Yorker before I even officially qualified as a New Yorker – and that I would soon write my own goodbye-to-NYC story.
And here we are. About to step away from the city I had dreamed of as a young girl, the town I had finally made my home as a mature woman. I want to go kicking and screaming, but being the grown woman I am, I go instead with the sting of bittersweetness – leaving the city where I both lost hope and experienced beautiful adventures.
I came here as a, shall we say, slightly more seasoned human being. Not a young person with the will and strength to get knocked down repeatedly and still have the guts to keep on keeping on. But I tried. I really did. But, in a city saturated with artists, it was a challenge, to put it mildly. Though I feel slightly undone, I believe that returning to Chicago will spark a renewal in my career – that is the dream guiding me forward.
But here is what I’ve learned from NYC that I will take with me…
New York demands that you feel:
Excitement.
Fear.
Dreamy.
Sad.
Wild.
And above all—ALIVE.
It is not for the faint of heart. In fact, it is relentless. Almost daily, you are confronted with strong smells, strange liquids on the sidewalk, rats darting out when you least expect them, and a host of eccentric—and sometimes unnerving—humans. There is the man who walks along the sidewalk, punching what I can only assume are demons visible only to him. I’ve never seen him harm or threaten anyone. It took me time to feel comfortable knowing he wanted no trouble, but now I recognize he is only fighting himself. Or there are the folks who stand like hopeful statues so that the pigeons have a landing place on their bodies. And there are those in need of help – on the subway, on the streets – and while I’ve seen them ignored, I’ve also watched my husband reach into his pockets whenever he could to share what he had. His compassion alone gives me hope.
Through observing this diverse, eclectic collection of humans, I’ve learned I must choose how I see the world—and I choose compassion. Because we all have demons we are trying to slay.
These past few days, I’ve visited all my favorite places, feeling the weight of leaving as I gear up to say my own goodbye. I am letting go of girlhood dreams, moments of success, rejections, joy, and countless adventures.
Sure, I know I’ll be back from time to time, but it won’t be the same. I won’t feel the thrill of being a local, walking my dog, and having people know I live here and so they feel comfortable asking me for directions. (Something I’ve learned New Yorkers love to give, and I do too!) I won’t be able to decide to see a Broadway show, grab cheap tickets, and just go.
But I do know this: I got to live it all, and it was amazing.
Nearly every day, as I wandered through my neighborhood or other parts of the city, I found myself saying the same words:
I freakin’ love New York City.
I’ll always love it. I think I’ll always miss it. It will be a great love that got away.
56AndTheCity2.0 