Alaska and New York are scary as all hell.
There was one very serious and very brief moment in my life where I honestly thought I was going to leave New York. It was about this time last year. The one relationship that will now forever be doomed as the relationship I will compare all future relationships against was in the haze of painstaking endings and long drawn out hysterical conversations of things that don’t matter now, but ended things then. I had started my new job after being suddenly fired from the last one of 7 years and was in a general phase of uncontrollable grief and melancholy.
I had always had a slight judgmental stance on people who moved away from New York, especially if their reasoning being that it was just “too hard” or “too expensive” of “too angry”. I find all of those reasons hog wash. Yes, New York is all of those things, but so are a lot of other places. And honestly, New York isn’t like an abusive relationship, its what I can imagine what being in the middle of the wilderness of Alaska is like. That bear, that looming long and lonely winter, that river, none of these elements give a shit about you and whether you live or die. In that sense its how it should be. New York is like that to me. No one, not the train conductor, the man with 5 kids who is delivering your egg sandwich up your 5 floor walk up on a Sunday morning because you’re too hungover on coke and gin and tonics to see the light of day, the guy who owns your favorite restaurant, no one gives a shit if you leave or don’t. Or sure, your friends will. But thats why they are your friends but the reality is that after you board that plane, they will still get up and take the E train to work and maybe visit you on a long weekend, maybe not. Maybe they will text you a picture once a month of some bathroom graffiti that reminds them of you, but for the most part they will continue on and not think about you as much. Its like that to me. Alaska and New York are damn hell scary and don't care about you. And I like that.
So when I was telling my friends over and over again that I was thinking of moving, and making my list of cities that I could potentially move to, I realized that I was being and doing everything that I can’t stand. It wasn’t so much that i thought the city was “too hard” it was more that I thought all these bad things, these 8 years of bad luck that just kind of goes with living in New York, like taxes, was a sign from New York saying that it was time for me to leave. Like a break up.
I imagined New York as a handsome but not your stereotypical handsome dark haired male wearing something casual but sexy like nice jeans and a jcrew sweater from a couple of seasons ago, sitting across from me in a coffee shop and staring me straight in the eye saying; “I really loved the time that we spent together, but I think its time we start seeing other people. You know… so we can both grow” Thats what if felt like to me.
So I made my list. Looked at help wanted ads in other major cities, thought about a cross country trip, and generally planed out my life with out the love of my life (in this case, Brooklyn on a fall day). The marathon was getting close and I started thinking not only was this building up to a physical “fuck you I’m better than you” to my ex boss and anyone who has ever fucked me and never called me back, but also a sad and self contained “goodbye” to my favorite place in the world. I felt like a hypocrite. It didn’t feel right and the more I stared at the list of names of other cities, the more I just couldn’t imagine any where else I would be. Philly is too much not like New York, Austin is wonderful but sadly is surrounded by the state of texas, LA is a beautiful nightmare, Chicago is too flat and the people are to nice, Portland is too beautiful and comfortable and for a city that is too beautiful and comfortable I could see myself with a family there but not on my own. I would read too much and my stress levels would probable go down. I don’t know if I’m ready for that yet. And so it came to be that I actually didn’t move because I couldn’t think of any place else I would rather be. A Mari de Monte in Philly or Chicago wouldn’t be Mari de Monte.
So I stayed. I stayed with the job, I didn’t end up staying with the same guy and I stayed in my apartment. I stayed in New York. Three out of four isn’t so bad. And when you run through 26 miles of New York city streets with everyone from every borough calling out your name, begging you and pleading you to make it to the finish line, who are you to say no?
