Today marks my last post written from New York. As I type, boxes are being packed, cable disconnected, life transplanted.
My husband and I decided it was time to go “home”. Back to the West Coast. And more specifically, Los Angeles. He’s always there doing his work, and the consistent “apartness” that we’ve endured for several years, just isn’t/wasn’t/ever how a family should be.
I’ve said good-bye to people and places before but this good-bye is especially hard.
My daughter is 8, my son 10. We’ve been in Brooklyn for 7 years. If you do the math, it roughly comes out to their entire lives and what they know, happened in the 718.
I’ve grown up here, too. New York is not the gentlest of places and when you have two small ones to protect, screaming, “Back Off” “Step Away” or “Get Out Of My Face” comes a lot easier than it did when I was a more meek and mellow California girl.
I’m thankful for my time in New York. Its wizened me to wise guys and hucksters. It’s taught me to exfoliate and defend against extreme conditions. I can now shovel a mean walkway, and lug a stroller down multiple flights of stairs to the subway. I’ve walked miles in stilettos while carrying Fairway grocery bags. I’ve made life-long friends that won’t be able to get rid of me even though I’ll be 3,000 miles away. And not most important, but importantly, its taught me how to shop. There’s lots of style here in New York and I hope I’ve been a decent student. But lets not talk about that. Last time I lived in L.A. circa 1995, Juicy Couture sweatsuits had just hit the racks and were all the rage. Worn with Uggs, it was the uniform of all female Los Angeleans.
And from what I’ve heard. Not much has changed. Ugh and SOB! But I promise, promise, promise to never become a girl of velour. What girl I do become remains to be seen. Stay tuned here for my journey. Until then, Good-Bye, New York. I’ll never forget you, and neither will my closet.