Strange Love
Over the past couple of weeks people have asked me, "why do you love New York so much?" And I can't give them the answer. Because anyone who loves New York as much as I do would already know ... this is a love that you can't put into a few sentences. Anyone who loves New York as much as I do, who could ever conceivably understand any attempt at an answer, would never ask the question in the first place.
I went to Washington D.C. this weekend to visit family and be there for the Cherry Blossom Festival. And I contemplated what my life would be like there, if that is where my career takes me. I decided that I could make peace with it, if I had to. I thought about the things I could grow to love just as much as, or more than, the aspects of New York that have always had a hold on me. D. C. is pretty cool. I like it. It's a different part of the world. I thought to myself , "I could get used to this place."
But, on my trip back, as the New York City skyline rose up into view, the bus rolling along the Jersey shore, I knew.
I'm hooked. It's hopeless. This city has got me.
It's a strange love.
I went to Washington D.C. this weekend to visit family and be there for the Cherry Blossom Festival. And I contemplated what my life would be like there, if that is where my career takes me. I decided that I could make peace with it, if I had to. I thought about the things I could grow to love just as much as, or more than, the aspects of New York that have always had a hold on me. D. C. is pretty cool. I like it. It's a different part of the world. I thought to myself , "I could get used to this place."
But, on my trip back, as the New York City skyline rose up into view, the bus rolling along the Jersey shore, I knew.
I'm hooked. It's hopeless. This city has got me.
It's a strange love.
This entry was posted
on April 11, 2005 at 1:01 AM.
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