I don't quite know how to tell you this, so I'm going to just come right out and say it: I'm leaving you. For the past 10 years, it's been you and me, kid. I feel like I owe you an explanation (also, I will still see you when I go to work, and we have mutual friends - I don't want things to be "weird").
In January of 1999, I saw you for the first time as an adult. And I fell instantly in love. Remember that blizzard? I skipped down your snowy streets, marveled at your graceful, powerful buildings, and watched, amazed, at how quickly the frenetic energy of Greenwich Village swallowed up the peaceful stillness of the sudden snowfall. That energy, the pounding, constant energy, was what really did me in. There was a feeling of vast potential - limitless possibility I had never felt before. And the people! On the subway, so many languages swirled around; on the streets, so many ethnicities mixed and interacted and lived together. Peacefully, mostly.
In September of that year, in one whirlwind weekend, I moved from Kentucky to New York. I rang in 2000 with my cousin and friends in Brooklyn (after attempting, briefly, the chaotic ball drop in Times Square - never again). I remember feeling so lucky, watching those poor suckers in Times Square as I sipped champagne in a warm apartment, surrounded by people I loved.
The ensuing New Year's celebrations were not all so happy - some were more, others were less (namely, one spent racing, in a full sprint, through Penn Station). Men, friends, jobs all drifted in and out of my life. But I always had you, Manhattan. I had a brief moment of weakness in 2006 when I nearly left you (for Seoul, oh what a mistake that would have been!). But nothing could quite pull me away from you - I could wander Central Park for hours, take the bus to the Cloisters and soak in the medieval ambiance, get lost in the crowds of Herald Square, or simply walk your streets in anonymity for hours.
Like a true Manhattanite, I eschewed the boroughs for many years. A friend moving to Brooklyn or Queens may as well have been moving to L.A. Gradually, though, I started venturing across the bridge more and more often. I remember one night in particular, when my friend Melissa invited me to go to Brooklyn with her to see a band play. It was an early summer night, and I remember being completely charmed (against my will) by the tree-lined streets, the brownstones, and the little shops, cafes and bars.
I didn't know it then, but Brooklyn had sunk its hooks into me.
It makes sense, really. My grandmother was a dyed-in-the-wool Brooklynite. Her Irish grandparents had settled in Flatbush, Brooklyn around the turn of the century, and she lived there until a dashing Merchant Marine from Pennsylvania stole her heart and carried her off to Ohio, where they raised a family (including my father) and lived happily for the next 50+ years. She may have lived in Ohio, but she rooted for the Dodgers and spoke with a thick Brooklyn accent until the day she spirited off to the Big Party in the Sky.
So, this summer, when my life changed abruptly and watching the East River swirl from a park bench in the Carl Schurz Park no longer brought me the same sense of calm, I shouldn't have been surprised when I felt a pull from the other side of the river. Those tree-lined streets called to me, Manhattan. I don't expect you to understand.
I have history here. I feel a sense of belonging here that you didn't always give me. In other words, it's not you, it's me.
One of the things I loved most about you was the ability to just get lost - disappear. After living so long in a small Kentucky community, where everyone knows everyone's business, anonymity was such a relief. For as long as I wanted, or needed, I could just vanish. Into the crowds, into the clubs, into the restaurants, into the stores, into the faceless ether.
The thing is, I think I'm done being lost. I think I'm ready to be found.
You'll always have a special place in my heart, Manhattan.
Stay dirty.
Love,
Meg
Brooklyn. 2011.
