And now I know, "Spanish Harlem" are not just pretty words to say.I thought I knew, but now I know that rose trees never grow in New York City.
-Elton John, "Mona Lisas & Mad Hatters"
My neck was stretched, head resting on the cushion of the backseat of my parent's station wagon. From there, I could see the glow of thousands of rectangles - each one encompassing someone's life. Driving up 3rd Avenue and over to the FDR, we'd make our way toward Connecticut as the dark of night fell over the city.
Each time we left, all I'd want to do is return. There was so much excitement, so much passion, so much ... more in New York City. And it was in those early 1980's trips into the city that my life gained a singular purpose: I would one day live in this great town.
While my classmates drew pictures of dragons and army men, my pages were filled with pencil drawings of buildings; their maze of grey structures bending toward the horizon.
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By the time I made it to New York, and my new adventure began they were still hauling truckloads of lower Manhattan to Fresh Kills. It was a city looking to regain its footing. It needed direction. It needed to breathe. And with that, we made an excellent pair.
It took me about a year before I considered it "home" and returning from trips in the country, I'd always be able to exhale once I rounded a corner and saw the skyscrapers off in the distance. I've never felt so connected to anywhere I've lived. The pace, the movement, the rumble of New York just seemed to line up perfectly with what I needed out of a town.
It's the guy pushing an AM New York in my face as I walk to the subway. It's knowing my laundry man - whose name I've never bothered to learn, will have already pulled my name up on the computer and hauled my bag of neatly folded clothes onto the counter by the time I make it down the steps. It's Central Park, it's Riverside. It's the sunset over the Hudson on Pier I. It's futile attempts to catch a cab on 8th Avenue after a night at the bars. It's early morning bike rides down the Hudson, or brushing past picture snapping tourists in Columbus Circle. It's the museums and the galleries, the stores in the West Village and the odor of Chinatown. It's being in the center of the universe and being able to reach out and touch it.
I fell deeply in love three times in this city - a town perfectly designed to generate love. And to think of the countless friends this city has given me requires a herculean effort. But really, it's that this city has given me so much, that in a small way I feel as if I'll always be a part of it and it of me.
I've never been able to accurately explain why I love this city to those who've never lived here. Most look at it like an act of self-flagellation. And really, while you can visit or work in New York, you'll never be able to understand New York without living here. Though similarly, I'd never be able to understand why anyone would want to sit on the back of a tractor
This isn't goodbye, this is just the end of part one. And somewhere out there among everything else, you can find me bending toward the horizon.
