Search

Micro Blogging
Photo Shares
Powered By

Wednesday
Oct312012

New York City: How I Hate Thee. Some E.B. White with a dash of Whining.

(Photo: digital_freak)New York City is eating me up.  This E. B. White quote of eminent failure has always intrigued me:

"...sometimes in New York you run across the disillusioned—a young couple who are obviously visitors, newlyweds perhaps, for whom the bright dream has vanished. The place has been too much for them; they sit languishing in a cheap restaurant over a speechless meal."

I often warn friends that NYC will chew on your soul and then spit you out cold, empty, and talking much faster than you used to. I think frequently about how I want to leave this place, but 1.) I don't know where I would go honestly, and 2.) I'm pretty entrenched.

Being entrenched has never been a reason for me not to take action, I admit. I dumped a military career after 12 years, and tossed a private sector job with lots of "upside" after only 9 months. Something different keeps me in New York though. I can put my finger on it, but I don't like the reasons when I say them outloud:

  1. I run a business here
  2. I own a home.
  3. It's the only place I've lived in for over three years, since I was 12.

I think the last reason keeps me the most. It almost feels like home, this jaded, over crowded, surprisingly lonely, and overpriced heap of bedrock and souls.

Oh, New York, how you've captured me. It's like an unhealthy marriage that neither party will leave, because the sex is good.

PrintView Printer Friendly Version

EmailEmail Article to Friend

Reader Comments

There are no comments for this journal entry. To create a new comment, use the form below.

PostPost a New Comment

Enter your information below to add a new comment.

My response is on my own website »
Author Email (optional):
Author URL (optional):
Post:
 
Some HTML allowed: <a href="" title=""> <abbr title=""> <acronym title=""> <b> <blockquote cite=""> <code> <em> <i> <strike> <strong>
« Coffee in Deli's vs Coffee in Dunkin Donuts | Main | When 1,000 Words Won't Come... Fitzgerald, The Jazz Age, and The Harlem Renaissance »