I Heart New York

When did New York stop being a place I live and start to become home? I’m not sure I can pinpoint it exactly.

When I got back from my roadtrip in July, I did notice that upon entering the city, I breathed a sigh of relief and thought to myself, I’m home. It took me by surprise, and I kind of discounted it because I had been away for two weeks. That’s a long time to live out of a suitcase and sleep in a hotel bed every night.

But now that I’ve been in Florida for nine days, I can’t wait to get back. It kicked in around day six. Even though Boca Raton is asthetically beautiful, despite the fact that there is a neverending supply of food in my house, I miss the city. I miss walking outside and knowing that left or right provides me more choices in five steps than 500 steps could take me out my front door here. Five hundred steps out my door here would probably only get me to the front of my neighborhood where I could wave hello to the old people taking their daily walks. Some with walkers.

Before I moved to NYC, someone told me, “Be careful, after a few years in the city you will never be able to leave.” I didn’t believe them. I remember thinking, no way, I’ll be able to leave anytime. But now, I see what they mean. Even in the littlest of ways. Last night, I wanted Mexican food in the worst way…but I had to settle for Chili’s. And they didn’t even have chimichangas. I had spinach dip. Which don’t get me wrong, was delicious, but it was no chimichanga. It was no chimichanga.

In NYC, I have no less than 15 choices for Mexican within two minutes of my front door. One of which is Chipotle and another of which is Burrito San Loco, the most delicious restaurant in New York City, and a place at which I've developed the disturbing habit of stumbling toward in the hours after midnight, ordering three tacos and eating them all before I get home. Or picking them up on the way to another bar and just eating them there.

I don’t know. It’s kind of funny that I was thinking of moving back to Florida only two months ago. I already know that I’d be dead, buried and in the ground from boredom if that had happened. Somewhere in the last two years and two months I’ve become to belong in New York. It’s where my friends are. It’s my favorite place to be. Every weekend when I go out, I have a good time. I meet someone new. I give out my phone number to cute boys, some who call and some who don’t, and I don’t give a crap either way. Every weekday night I spend with a book at the new coffee shop is the best time. Every time I can get the Sunday Times and read it wherever the hell I want to makes me insanely happy.

Can I ever return back to “regular” life? Maybe. Depends where that regular life is. Depends who I’m with. But in the meantime, it’s good to know, that for the first time in a very, very long time, I know for sure, that I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.