New York, The Hardest Breakup Of All
Beginning a new chapter means saying goodbye to another...
After much time and soul searching, I decided that it is time to leave my beloved Brooklyn for a different pace of life, one that is more grounded in nature. About two years ago—when I initially wrote the essay below—something in me dramatically switched. I went from more than a decade of being filled up with an insurmountable amount of energy living and working in New York to being absolutely drained. I didn’t understand it at first; I moved here at 18 to go to college after just visiting for half of a day and I was immediately hooked. Nothing was going to break this deep love affair but believe me New York was both friend and foe. I was put through the ringer for many years, so many people asked me, why are you doing this to yourself? I told myself I could withstand it all. Over time, things did level out but it’s because I persevered and worked my tail off. But over time, you change and evolve. I have always been a nature lover at heart, but I told myself, it’s New York or bust. The only other place I will live is France. While that is still on the table, I am moving up to the countryside in Connecticut, where I will be able to grow flowers, vegetables and tend to chickens. So where does that leave New York and ROSE & IVY? It will stay the same; I am an arm-lengths from Manhattan and it will always be a part of what I am doing and will continue to do. I’ll also be writing more here about my experience of moving and changing my die-hard city life with a slower pace.
Images by Me
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There I was, almost two years ago, staring at a rare colorful mandarin duck in Central Park with tourists and other New Yorkers when I realized it was time. As the duck glided back and forth on the water with a flock of mallards, who he was seemingly still getting acquainted, the only thing I could think of is—this is what I’ve become, my only lifeline to nature was watching it amid the racket of the city with hoards of over eager tourists, some wearing a decaled t-shirt with the duck superimposed on the front. I heard one say with a southern twang in passing, “Central Park is the only nature they get.” I sank.
I’ve lived in New York collectively for 15 years. Eight of them in fairly questionable neighborhoods and living conditions, until I got married and enjoyed more than ten years nestled in a picture perfect brownstone on a tree lined street in Carroll Gardens, Brooklyn. But there came a time when I felt like I was suffocating, it was as if I couldn’t breath. Even though I was fortunate enough to have a small porch, it became too small a plot to toil. The city parks felt too contrived and the constant swell of people made moments of solitude nearly impossible. The once titillating rush of the city, the concrete piled high, the noises and the more people the better had somehow gone from exhilarating and life giving to utterly draining.
For years, I had my claws deeply embedded into this city. I clung to it even when it was hard from both a job and living perspective. When the tide moved sharply to the left, I firmly held my ground by my steadfast stance and the notion that I would never leave nor be forced to succumb to it by way of any other seemingly compelling distraction. I got used to the hardship. E.B. White said, “By comparison with other less hectic days, the city is uncomfortable and inconvenient; but New Yorkers temperamentally do not crave comfort and convenience- if they did they would live elsewhere.” I vowed to withstand if only to achieve what I had come to do.
As the prolific writer states, I forgot through all of the passing years about convenience like a car, in-house laundry and space! Rather, I lived for the thrill of lugging groceries block after block; waiting in serpent style lines at popular grocery stores; watching film sets take over and make over entire blocks. On the other, I, like all other New Yorkers, dealt with overly uncomfortable subway rides packed to the nines at rush hour; dodging black slush puddles in winter that’s depth was unknown until you stepped into the freezing water and it hovered around your ankle; static summers when the heat is so sweltering you’d give anything for a reprieve. New York isn’t easy and many know this hard to swallow fact.
An acquaintance played host to my mom and I when I returned back to New York in 2006. After my college years in Charleston, prior I was a student at FIT, I was more than gung-ho about coming back. Besides Paris, I didn’t think any other places ‘really existed’ on the planet. The pace of the avenues made my pulse and heart beat faster, the shopping, the constant newness, the architecture, the convenience. Those feelings were not mutual to our guide who lived here for decades, in fact she was anything but. Her very low energy eluded to the fact that she was over it and definitely burned out, a concept that seemed foreign to my young mind—how could you ‘be over’ New York?
After about six or seven years of living in the city, some people would slowly make their way to the suburbs, a notion that made me cringe, let alone be filled with anxiety. Until a friend moved there, was I then able to ask someone directly about it. Somehow my worst nightmare involved living in the outskirts, abandoning my farmers markets, coffee shops and close walking vicinity to wherever and whenever I chose.
“So how is it really?” I’d press. The answer was always around the lines of, “it takes some time to get used to” or “it’s just a better quality of life”.
New York was always my escape, it filled my longing. It was on my vision board, often mirrored as a conquest. If I can make it here, I really can make it anywhere. I got a taste of leaving the city when I transferred colleges from New York to Charleston. That lesson I learned, which unraveled over time, was that I just operated better in Manhattan because anything goes. You can be unapologetically yourself, your dreams can soar. I told myself I wouldn’t move from its walls again except for Paris. I expressed more than once to my husband that if he’d ever expect me to move, he’d have to forcibly drag me.
What is it about New York that makes it so hard to leave? Perhaps it’s because even when you have grown tired, it leaves the impression that it would be hard to return again, if the craving again should strike. Maybe it’s the thrill of newness—the concept of bigger is better. The city has given me a lot, but also taken some, but not more than I can handle. It taught me persistence, to be open-minded, patient and assertive.
Then the pandemic hit. At first, like so many people, I thought this would be over in May and I told myself I could manage to navigate the time period as best as I could. But we are here in January—there is still no end in sight—and the months that followed from spring were pretty excruciating. Truthfully speaking, my anxiety has never been quite so bad. I know my triggers—crowds, being confined to a small space and germs are three things that can get me into a tailspin. It’s been a long goodbye, since I knew we were leaving here about a month ago. I wanted it to be a like a bandaid, a quick release, yet I know it couldn’t be that way. I have cried a lot but I know that in my heart of hearts, this is the right thing for me. I need to stretch my arms, walk barefoot outside and feel the gentle embrace of nature. I feel like I am leaving the city while it is down, but even though I am leaving, my love for what this city has offered me will keep me grateful. It’s been a springboard for my dreams; while they changed from what I originally set out to do, I am thankful for the opportunities I was afforded here. There truly is no place like New York.
One thing is for sure, the city will continue to change and evolve; people will come and go. It will always be there, floating, surrounded by two rivers, rising high above with its fancy skyscrapers. Now that I am leaving, I know that I can always return and discover it yet again, and perhaps fall in love all over.
