I took the photo above on Friday, from the rooftop of a hotel in midtown. It was a spectacular day.
One of the reasons I’m so enamored with New York is because I was even before I got here. I decided that this city was my future when I was barely out of diapers. (Same with London; this month marks 29 years since I decided I was going to live there. Four-year-old me made a good call there, too.) This was based on three things: 1) Books I read that were based in New York (Ezra Jack Keats’ picture books especially), 2) TV sitcoms set in New York, and 3) Madonna lived here and I wanted to spend every night dancing at the Palladium. I was a strange little girl.
I had no idea how unoriginal my dream was. I didn’t learn to care about such things until I was a bit older.
Well, it’s everything I thought it would be. I got my place here about 15 months ago, though I did a lot of commuting to the west coast until January. The novelty hasn’t worn off, and the only thing I truly mind is the noise of the subway and, sometimes, the streets. (My apartment is in a wonderful development that is like living in a park, so I get almost zero noise at home. I take this for granted until I visit my friends here.) I’m no longer interested in spending nights at the Palladium, or indeed any clubs, and Madonna is another disappointment I won’t get into.
The photo above was taken as I sat on a stoop on Thursday with some good friends in the West Village. It’s the kind of thing I wanted to do when I was a kid, but there were no stoops in the middle of a farm in Ohio. So, at 32, I finally got the New York City childhood I always wanted.