Thank God for Thanksgiving. There are not enough vacations in American jobs, and not enough national holidays. The stretch from Thanksgiving to Christmas is the one time of the year when (some) jobs take themselves less seriously.
I spent the whole week of Thanksgiving in New York, which I hadn’t visited since moving out in February.
I don’t feel like a detailed account of all that happened during that week. There were good times with old friends. I got to stay in Lara and Andrew’s new house in Brooklyn, helped Lara prepare Thanksgiving dinner (her successful debut), went for a run with my team, went ice skating for the second time ever, caught up with Andrea. I’m not interested in the details, but here go a few photos:
New York is a funny place. I’ve seen people addicted to it. I’ve seen people be forced to leave before it was their time, and come back for visits at every possible occasion, looking for the lost paradise. This is not the case for me. Of course, I have a long history there – five intense years, and a small crowd of good friends. It was great to see them, I had missed them. But when I heard of their plans for next weekend, or of their life during the past months, I felt no envy, no nostalgia, no desire to prolong my visit. I just don’t live there any more.
As the week unfolded, and with the perspective I’ve gained from distance, I saw the things I like about this city: the dynamism, the people, the speed, the variety. I also saw the things that had always annoyed me: the smell, either non-existent, or garbage, the noise, the nervous people, the attitude that this is the best place in the world. I missed Seattle, not just because of the comfort of being in my own house. I missed the drive home over lake Washington, the smell of vegetation, the open sky, the sight of mountains, the free time, even the boredom.
I don’t have a crystal ball, but I don’t think I’ll move back to New York. It was a wonderful period, now I’m somewhere else.