Break On Through To The Other Side

Well, I'm here. After much anticipation, many teary goodbyes, and a fair share of reluctance, I left that little New York City and crossed the threshold into my new life in San Francisco. And so, finally, it's time to figure out how I feel about this whole situation. Here goes nothin'...

The last couple weeks in Manhattan were chock full of we're-leaving-New York-fun-times. That was immediately followed by two weeks of nonstop I'm-so-happy-to-be-home-for-Christmas-in-Colorado-awesomeness (which definitely deserves its own post, thanks to the incredible combination of Family Game Tournament, Paul's arrival, copious amounts of fondue, meat pie, champagne, Just Dance!, and our annual family band and napkin costume contest. But, Christmas is already so last year, so you may just have to settle for a little Facebook action). Then, as quickly as it began, vacation was over and Day 1 of Operation: California was upon us. My days as a New Yorker are officially a thing of the past.

Before I attempt to reflect on my life-changing experience in New York, I should quickly sum up the rest of our final tour de force, also known as Rebecca and Eric Eat Manhattan.

In one huge Saturday, we knocked The Sunburnt Calf, the MUD truck, and the Brooklyn Bridge off the list. Plus, our adventures that day gave us some outstanding write-in candidates for future reference: tasty, rosemary nuts at Union Square Cafe and hands down the best milkshake ever- the toasted marshmallow shake at Stand.

AND, that Saturday just so happened to be SantaCon, the annual convening of people that want to dress like Mr. Claus and binge drink all over the city. Winner!

We both had lovely send offs and holiday parties from our office and, at Mom's recommendation, we braved the tourists at Rockefeller Center so we saw a really big tree and many, many people. Just look at how excited I am!

We stuffed ourselves at Mesa Grill, and Paul was able to join us for a last brunch at Calle Ocho, which was almost a bust but was saved at the last moment by the appearance of our waiter friend Antonio to wish us well and to try to make out with Paul. Well. Kind of.

After a long night of packing and cleaning and being sad, the big day dawned on us and we ordered a Big Nick's pizza (a tribute to our first meal in New York), drugged the cat, forced her into the world's smallest pet carrier, and closed the door at 101 West End for the last time.

If you would have asked me four years ago if New York would ever feel like home, I'm sure I would have said no. The days when I would be sad and reluctant to return to the city after a visit to the west coast really are not so long ago. Somehow, though, New York bewitched me. The person I became there and the life I built there made that peculiar, crowded, glittering city my home.

I couldn't tell you exactly what I liked so much about living there because, in reality, living in New York is a huge pain in the rear. And it's also really full of people. Rude people. And pigeons. Plus, it's expensive and it gets really hot in the summer and there's nothing I hate more than being sweaty. Despite all of these very legitimate reason not to like that place, I am more than a little bit in love with that city.

A lot of people would probably say that they like New York because of the galleries or the restaurants or the theatre, but it's nothing that specific for me. If I had to pick one reason I loved living there it would be because I didn't have to drive and would never be expected to. Valid point, but not quite romantic enough to sum up the deep and emotional attachment I have for the city. It's something much more intangible.

I love the crisp fall air in the parks and the balmy early summer nights by the river; my yoga teachers with their incredible knowledge, patience, and skill; the rush of people at any hour of the day, all hurrying to whatever comes next, like tiny pieces in a never-ending jigsaw puzzle; the miles and miles and miles and miles of walking; the snow-covered city before the grime and noise of the day takes over; the quiet cobblestones of the West Village and unexplored paths in Central Park; and, of course, Paul...

The list could go on and on. I love New York and miss it deeply for a million little reasons that add up to one big one: I loved knowing I lived there. With all its mystique, glory, intimidation, and enormity, Eric and I made a life there, and we were good at it, and it was ours.

That is what I'll miss most about New York.

Now that we've been in San Francisco for a couple of weeks, I'm ready to embrace it. The wound of leaving New York is not quite so raw and I know it's time to open my heart to this city as much as I did for New York. I won't pretend that there weren't rough days over the past four and a half years, but when I look back at this time in my life, I will always cherish it. I will always want to go back. But now is the beginning of my next chapter, and it's time to be excited, so I am.

And besides, San Francisco already has a lot going for it: my sis is here and the weather is pretty nice. Turns out it isn't so weird to not have winter; you actually just forget it's winter altogether. Apparently, I've adapted to the California life more easily than originally expected...