I grew up in and around
Boston, but it was a city that never really got under my skin. I have a strong affinity for Boston; it is my
second home. But it is not a place I was
comfortable settling into.
I lived in Chicago for six
years. It’s a beautiful American city,
but it’s self-contained. There is
nothing much to do once you leave the city limits. My family was all back East when I lived
there, and I missed them. I also missed
being near an ocean. As spectacular as
Lake Michigan is, it doesn’t quite measure up to the Atlantic Ocean.
I even lived in Portland
Oregon for six months when I worked for Gillette. It’s a nice city, but it rains too much. And it’s too far from my roots.
I moved to New York in January
of 1985, and I immediately knew this was home.
It’s a city that still enthralls me; I never tire of it. I am never bored here. It changes all the time. You can be whomever you want; no one
cares. But yet it is a caring city.
And for a big city, I find
it strikingly friendly, and familiar.
Today, for example. I meet Shari while she’s having her haircut. On my way home, I bump into Diane. Alexander and her daughter were classmates in
elementary school; her daughter is now at Penn. I haven’t seen mother or
daughter in years, as we were never really close. But surprisingly, we find a lot to catch up on.
Next I go
to the Post Office, and there I bump into a woman I haven’t seen in a decade. Her child also was in the same elementary
school as Alexander, and is now at U Chicago.
I still picture him as a curly-haired little boy. His mother looks unchanged, maybe even
better. She says the same of me (the
unchanged part).
And then
later, I pass a woman on the street who was in my Weight Watchers group, where
I haven’t been since June 13, exactly a year ago. I wonder if she notices the
six pounds I’ve added in the intervening months?
I come home thinking how grateful I am to live in this great city — even when I'm doing nothing more than running neighborhood errands. I truly can't imagine living anywhere else.
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