Driving home to Brooklyn we came through Times Square. Culture shock on a grand scale.
For months now I’ve been thinking of New York as a demon lover – the one who doesn’t treat you well, who throws you just enough crumbs to keep you stumbling along in the relationship, who endlessly promises and rarely delivers. The one you stay with too long, can’t find a way to leave.
I’ve had a growing suspicion that my relationship with this city may be over. I no longer feel a deep sense of relief when the pilot announces the approach to La Guardia. I crave a garden and limited entertainment options. I’m even nostalgic for driving, for goodness sakes.
Our trip upriver was not merely a vacation, it was as a scientific experiment exploring the city-leaving premise. I didn’t expect a clear answer but within a day I knew. I felt the wide open sense that I could leave New York. Walk away. Like the moment when you look at your husband/lover/partner, the person you see morning and night, who is central to all your days and decisions, and realize that one day, possibly soon, this entire life you’ve constructed together will be gone. This person will be friend or memory. Your paths will part and start new.
But before anything changes there is today. And tomorrow, and tomorrow’s tomorrow. M and I just shacked up; his job isn’t as portable as mine; we may never want to revisit the trauma of moving which is reason enough to stay put. It isn’t clear where we would move to, and it isn’t enough to want to go.
Who knows where this will lead.