So, you should all allow me to admit that The Village Voice, although criticized by other elitist publications (see: old No Fun Nancies hardened by their snobbery and Midtown pollution), produces some cheeky, young and clever lists, ditties, blurbs, and articles. At least they're worth a glance and a smirk, and that's more than I can say about all of what people write these days.
This post (below), though, rang true for me. Life here isn't easy. In fact, it's daunting, discouraging, isolating, expensive as hell, inconvenient, exhausting, soul-stealing, dirty, and on and on and on. On a sidenote, I also had my IPhone, IPod, and what little cash I have (correction: had) stolen two nights ago. I'm the poster child for when New York City life deals you a blow to the head, knocking you out cold until you come to and begin wondering why the heck you put yourself through all of this day after day. So, believe me when I reiterate that it's truer than you think: Life is freaking hard here. Running errands is difficult! Running errands! Errands? I don't just hop in my car, pull up to a parking spot, park, purchase my items, walk them back out and put them in my trunk and carry on! I'm bumping people with bags and boxes, waddling to the subway, while being pushed and shoved but still trying to keep my space from the schizophrenic homeless man in the corner of the subway car who continues to eye me while reciting what is likely to be a passage from the satanic verses. Yes! Ouch!
But, even in these times, I continue to remind myself how lucky I am. I chose this. This was my choice, and I knew that life would not entirely champagne toasts and smooth cab rides (although that would be splendid all of the time!). I have to make an effort to remember how, at times, I am extremely proud of what I have accomplished here and how many more things lie just over that horizon for me..., and ultimately--despite all-- yes, just how much I desperately love New York. It's a love and hate relationship. It's despicable and enchanting. It's yin and yang. It's war and a safe zone. It's a famine and feast. It's barren and fertile. OK, but, at the end of the night, morning, year, decade, New York is more love than hate, but hey, most of us here understand this. For better or for worse. It binds us. We all are apart of this relationship.
We're lovesick, but I don't know if we'd trade in this moody, bipolar lover for anyone else.
For your viewing pleasure:
Really Do Heart NY