Raw Drip

While, technically, we didn’t leave New York City behind (we were in Northern NJ after all) it still feels like the city and I have parted ways once again. 

The first time Dick and I lived in NYC we were there from January ‘99 to August ’02 B.C. (Before Children).  As a young single couple, we embraced our NYC experience by living in a Manhattan high-rise apartment with expansive views of the Hudson River, midtown & the twin towers of the World Trade Center.   With a car being exceedingly unnecessary and impractical, we absorbed the city through long walks.  Our weekends were often spent walking north from downtown to see what we could see along the way - no map, no schedule, no emergency provisions, no destination in mind - the city always provided for us.   

City life was fairly uncomplicated but often lonely for me.  The problem I faced with the city was, ironically, a sense of isolation.  I soon learned that if you’re young, single and living in the city, you’re probably absorbed in your career.  I was definitely lacking this kind of ambition.  However Dick was in a serious career growth spurt which often meant traveling for business or working long hours at the office.  With Dick gone I planned to live out my SATC (Sex & the City) fantasies of girlfriend chatter, shopping trips, great restaurants and high fashion.  But living in the city exacts a toll from those who dare to dwell within her silvery bounds.  You learn quickly to either make peace with paying that toll or you move on to the ‘burbs.

One toll I paid was sacrificing convenient shopping.  Surprisingly, shopping in a large city is NOT necessarily convenient.  This seems odd, right?  After all, when you’re in New York City, you’re in the shopping capital of the world.  What could be more convenient?  Well let’s say you want to hit your 8 favorite stores in the course of a day.  When you map it out, you realize that 3 of those 8 are on Madison Avenue between 51st & 67th, 2 more are on Amsterdam between 72nd & 81st and 3 more are on Bleeker in the West Village.  To cover those 8 stores is going to take some serious strategery (as Dubya would say) - at least an entire day and it’ll cost you a small fortune in cab fare.  The mall rat in me was annoyed by this dichotomy.  Because, while I loved the idea of the shopping trip, all that planning was too much like work.  The sterile, soulless convenience of the mall suddenly seemed like a brilliant idea. 

Another toll exacted by the city was on fashion.  Surprising, eh?  But let’s say you’re going to head out for a cross town walk to your favorite dining establishment.  You want to look city chic so you don your favorite pair of kitten heels, a fetching pair of black trousers with a white, fitted button-down shirt, a cherry red over-sized handbag and a pair of Jackie-O sunglasses make for an easy, pulled-together look.  After schlepping 4 blocks your feet are starting to ball up like the Wicked Witch of the East after Dorothy’s house crushed her.  Your heels feel like they’re being scraped of their flesh by tiny razor blades.  Even more annoying, your kitten heels keep getting stuck in the scary grates that cover the subway ventilation tubes, so now you have to constantly scan the sidewalk for potential pitfalls – what Dick calls “route planning”.   After 2 or 3 more blocks, the spandex in your trousers begins to hold in perspiration and you’re sweating like a pig in a sauna.  Your sweaty lower half is soon joined by your equally sweaty upper half as your fitted button-down shirt starts to adhere to you like a second skin – or a straight jacket.  Hair, once neatly combed into a french twist, has been unforgivably blown into a stringy mass from the wind tunnel formed by the adjacent buildings.  And that over-sized handbag you coveted when toted by Katie Holmes?  That bag weighs about 15 pounds empty and feels rather like carrying a bowling bag with a toddler inside.   This is when you realize that the glossy image of a sweat-free, well-dressed, impractically heeled and accessorized Carrie Bradshaw strutting the streets of NYC really is a fantasy.   The city demands that you think more practically.  From choosing comfortable, durable footwear to selecting reasonably sized handbags.  You and your wardrobe are going to be put through the paces.  Physical exertion combined with exposure to unpredictable weather elements and a complete lack of personal space will get to you and high fashion is for those that can afford to take cabs everywhere. 

Still, for all the planning, the hassles and the effort it takes to appreciate New York, its treasures are revealed in all sorts of little ways that remind me how fortunate I am to live in its hyper-reality.  My mind wanders back to the corner of Chambers & West Broadway where my favorite comfort eating spot “Kitchenette” resides.  So many breakfasts over the NY Times and a cuppa. 

For me, the sight of the Statue of Liberty takes me back to the bench facing the Hudson river where Dick proposed on bended knee at sunset.   Even now I can recall the green smell of the river water mixed with the faint odor of exhaust from the nearby ferries. 

Perhaps my heart both soars and falls with these memories because of the guilt & loss I feel over that part of my life being so completely and profoundly gone.   Our time in NJ – our last attempt to recapture that city magic - left me feeling unsatisfied.  The city offered up its gems to us, but we’ve changed and found the fussiness of it’s baubles unappealing.  It seems by leaving the city, I’ve paid the biggest toll of all because now my old dreams are fading and the new ones are costlier.  The dreams we have for our children are considerably less glamorous and more long term and they come with all new sacrifices that are far more complex than the mere inconvenience of cab fare or truncated shopping trips. 

From now on I’ll look back upon the city as our place – Dick’s and mine.   Florida may be home and our heart is certainly here.  But there’s a special part of our hearts that will always be in New York City.