Sunday, January 15, 2012

A letter to New York

Dear NY,

It's only been a month, but I've missed you since the day I left. I miss your smell and the way your tap water tastes, your sometimes unreliable L trains and your cash-only neighborhood coffee shops.

It was warm and breezy in Miami and now it's cool and breezy in Savannah. I can wear skirts and dresses and sequined shorts and forgo the socks, but I find myself wanting to wear jackets and tights and scarves, and then I sweat just thinking about it.

I miss the days of wandering down unknown streets for hours until my legs hurt and discovering stores and restaurants and parks and new cupcake flavors. All I had to do was walk outside. 

When I first landed at La Guardia four and a half months ago I asked myself lots of important questions like, Will I learn my way around as well as the locals? Will people be nice? What's it going to be like living without my dog? And then the immediately important question: How am I going to lug all these heavy-ass suitcases out of the airport, into the cab, out of the cab, and up four flights of stairs?

I'm still not sure how I did it, but I did.

With you, I had no choice but to learn how to use a gas stove. I still cringe for the first four seconds while I listen to the tick-tick-ticking sound and wait for the flame to pop up, but at least now I'm not afraid to turn it on. 

I learned that there are worse things than having to sleep on a $20 air mattress six-inches from the floor for months and worse things than managing my life with only three feet of closet space.

Thank you for making me tough(er). I'll be back soon.


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