Photo by DMT
I’m so homesick for New York.
A few weeks ago, while dog sitting for a friend, I watched “Hitch” – and cried. It wasn’t the heartwarming message about being yourself and trusting that the right person will come along and love who you are that made me cry [although, that is a legitimate thing to get teary about]. I cried because when Eva Mendes left her loft to go to work, I caught a glimpse of the cobblestone streets of SoHo and a painfully deep longing to be back in New York City ripped through me, again.
Subway platform. Photo by DMT
I’m homesick for the sound of the subway train cars pulling into the station, the woosh of the doors opening and closing, and the feel of being tugged forward in space as it moves forward toward it’s next stop. I miss the way New Yorkers are able to create a discreet bubble of space, even on the most crowded subway car, by simply shifting their gaze and looking away from those immediately surrounding them. D. once said that in a city of eight million, he loves the fact that he can still be a solitary man [and then added, "No Neil Diamond jokes, please."].
I’m homesick for the way it feels to walk down streets bathed in sunshine on one block and shrouded in shade, the next. I ache to feel the shift in seasons as the city responds to the earth’s rotation and adjusts. I’ve always said that fall in Michigan is, perhaps, the most wonderful part of living in this state because the brilliant foliage highlights all of the natural beauty this state has to offer, but I’d trade it all, right now, to be experiencing the smooth slide from September into October in New York City.
I want to open my eyes and see the brilliant kaleidoscope of buildings, traffic, and people. I want to listen to the cacophonous symphony of sounds that honk and beep and shout out the rhythm to the soundtrack of the city. I want to feel the solid pavement under my feet as I bounce down steps that sink into the connective tissue that is the subway. I want to breathe deep smell the scent of the city from the Hudson Bay all the way to Harlem. I want to wrap my arms around the city and pull it close enough to feel the pulsing, throbbing force that embodies all of my hopes and dreams.
I’ve been walking the streets of the city again, thanks to Google Earth, and as a result, my night time dreams are filled with vivid images of vintage clothing stores, bookstores, coffee shops, and small corner bodegas. In my dreams the streets come to life; living and breathing, as traffic rushes by frantically marking the minutes with the constant clicking pulse of the cab drivers’ rooftop signs. In Service. Dark. In Service. Dark.
The other night I dreamed I lived in a huge apartment inside a building that seemed to soar through the sky. One entire wall of my home was made up of floor to ceiling windows that let in light that illuminated every corner and warmed my face while I stood sipping my early morning cup of coffee. Standing next to the windows, I could see the entire city waking up as the sun began to rise, its rays bouncing off of the steel and glass as it stretched toward the sky. I woke up smiling.
TriBeCa. Photo by DMT
I dream of spending Saturdays walking the High Line, the elevated 1.5 mile park that runs from the West Village through to Hell’s Kitchen. Or browsing one of the Brooklyn Flea Markets looking for that “one of a kind” purchase that will turn a dumpy studio apartment into an avant-garde showcase of original flea market discoveries. Or browsing the collections at the New York Public Library, then sitting down in Bryant Park with a cup of hot coffee and losing myself in a newly discovered literary treasure.
It’s not that I don’t love where I am right now, it’s that I can feel New York pulling me closer and my will to resist is weakening. I know what’s practical, what’s rational, and what’s reasonable, but when the city begins to weave its seductive magic, I become helplessly tangled in its spell.
It’s not that I think I can move any faster than I am or make things happen any quicker than they already are, it’s just that the intense ache that occasionally pushes its way into my daily life, reminds me that the city’s out there – impatiently waiting – and that I need to take action and get myself moving in its direction again.
I don’t want to cry because I miss New York City; I want to cry because I can’t believe I no longer do.
