Time Travel: An Ode to New York City

It's always interesting to ask someone what their favorite city is. Some will wistfully recall their home town; others, an exotic destination where they first learned to surf, first backpacked, first fell in love. Still others will have a few. A toss-up between the familiar - a Chicago, for instance - and the Paris. Many vacillate. "Well, if you mean for vacation, then..."

For me, it's not even close. From the moment I stepped onto the 1 train in the Fall of 2008, I was completely, hopelessly hooked on New York City. I spent six glorious years lost in the clutches of that beautiful concrete behemoth, and then, two years ago, I abandoned my home for the tamer pastures of DC.

Recently, I returned to - temporarily - reclaim my old stomping ground. I arrived via Penn Station, and as my cab sped down 7th Avenue and cut across Bleecker, I pressed my face against the window, breathlessly taking in every store front, every puddle. I fought back tears and racked my brain to figure out a telework arrangement that would allow me to inhabit this incredible city once more.

I won't bore you with the details of my stay in NYC, except to say that it was just as spectacular and heartbreaking as I had expected. I also won't bore you with a gushing blog post about New York. Enough has been written about this city.

Instead, I decided to unearth a short something I had written on the eve of my departure, in February 2014.

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In six weeks I leave the greatest city on earth. It’s a strange feeling, knowing. That everything they say about New York City is true.

This town has left skid marks on my face. I have raged (and aged) disgracefully, ventured questionably, voyeured vigorously and dabbled profusely.

I watched tears of joy roll down 125th as a dark skinned man with a funny name ascended to the throne.

Blinked as dawn broke over midtown, stumbling down from the tower to ring the opening bell for a man across the world.

Saw black snake ate whole on stage through fogged vision and clouded judgment. Walked from Harlem to Dumbo to clear my head. New York was like that, for me.

You can do whatever you want here. Others will do it better, harder, faster, more shameless, and in your anonymity you will push yourself to the precipice grasping for the black car, the velvet rope, the tabletop slick with spilled spirits of seekers past. Your hair will lash your sweaty face and you’ll open your mouth to breathe the air of what you finally feel is true freedom.

And then, you will go home.

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