Anniversary

My dear friend Craig has returned to Iraq, this time serving in Fallujah for a period of seven months. Like all his family and friends, I'm keeping him in my thoughts.

Quite emotional this morning as I realized yesterday was six months since I left New York. Six months. It's extremely hard to believe. I'd be lying like a Bush staffer if I said I don't miss Manhattan and my life there. Often so deeply it physically hurts. Sometimes so deeply I begin to frantically plot my east coast return. And when I say I miss New York, I mean the city as all-encompassing label for everything combined into one gargantuan ball: not only the sights and sounds, but the daily grind, the sense of immortality, the precious nearness of friends and family. And my way of life for six years.

Of course I started out a New Yorker, born in Brooklyn, where my entire extended family landed and settled in the years after World War II. I've actually lived in three NYC boroughs, if you count the four-plus years of my early life spent in the snowy suburban idyll of Staten Island. I was in New York when the Twin Towers went up and I was there when they fell. Eternally sunny Los Angeles provided the backdrop for the 20-year lapse in my New York residency, a mostly happy childhood leading to an unfulfilling early adulthood colored by a growing desire to move back to the east coast and explore life on the vibrant isle of Manhattan.

Yes, I miss New York City and my life there horribly. But I'd be lying if I said life wasn't good for me here in northern California. My job is fantastic, my friends are positively lovely, I've loved every minute spent with my brother and sister-in-law, I've dropped 10 pounds simply adopting a moderately healthier lifestyle (easy to do when there's no late-night Chinese food delivery or slice of Ray's on every block), and I'm infinitely more relaxed than I was while navigating the ups and downs of metropolitan life. This regardless of the fact that--even in NYC--I was always the most relaxed person I know.

On a daily basis, I breathe intoxicatingly fresh air, feast my eyes upon gorgeous natural scenery, share open roads with relatively few other drivers and operate at a slower pace than most of the country. Yet I dearly miss the frenetic pace and sights of the concrete jungle, relying on public transportation, sharing my commute with hundreds of interesting strangers while devouring a great book. My precious reading time is sorely deficient since I no longer spend hours each week hurtling through darkened underground tunnels.

No one here worries much about what today's terror alert level is, although nearly everyone I've met is well-traveled and exceedingly well-informed with regards to current events. Instead, people here are happy to tell you which local animals are threatened by extinction, when the last significant earthquake hit, where the Sierra Club meeting takes place and what time to expect high tide at Moonstone Beach.

For those who doubt just how liberal this area is, yesterday's newspaper profiled a local man displaying what is quite possibly the only "Bush/Cheney '04" bumper sticker in the entire county. The poor lad has had his car scratched, dented, spit upon and pelted with eggs and tomatoes. While I'm admittedly no fan of Dubya n' Dick, I'm sure there are better ways to express one's political beliefs.

It seems as though there is little that doesn't exacerbate my melancholy longing for the city I called home all those years. It's too soon for nostalgia, though that's generally what influences my exploration into the great "life in New York vs. life in Humboldt" debate. You can take the girl out of the city, but no fucking way can you take the city out of the girl. Still, regardless of the things and people I yearn for, I'm fully aware that the path of my life is too complex to map out based solely on where I choose to lay my head. Today, it's Humboldt County. Tomorrow, who knows?

Posted by ayelet at August 2, 2004 10:52 AM