Part of the magic of living in New York is really found in the small things. My last day there, I woke up at an ungodly (for Sunday) early hour to meet a friend for coffee; as I walked through the streets, the low winter sun cast slanted shadows on the buildings, throwing everything into stark relief. There was a quiet stillness in the air, the sound of a city that hadn't quite woken up yet. The smell of something warm and fried wafted from the direction of the corner deli. At that moment, I felt like I was right in rhythm with the city, like everything just fit in place.
New York has a curious way of embracing you while holding you at arm's length. You can never really know the city, even though you feel perfectly at home. You can know every single street, yet you walk among millions of strangers. I think I hold New York close to my heart because I feel like I "grew up" there, as I built the semblance of an adult life during those first years out of college. I'm not so sure I could go back for good (I've gotten soft out here in Seattle), but I think a small piece of me will always be there, waiting for me to come back and visit.
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