"
There are roughly three New Yorks. There is, first, the New York of the man or woman who was born there, who takes the city for granted and accepts its size, its turbulence as natural and inevitable. Second, there is the New York of the commuter--the city that is devoured by locusts each day and spat out each night. Third, there is New York of the person who was born somewhere else and came to New York in quest of something. Of these trembling cities the greatest is the last--the city of final destination, the city that is a goal. It is this third city that accounts for New York’s high strung disposition, its poetical deportment, its dedication to the arts, and its incomparable achievements. Commuters give the city its tidal restlessness, natives give it solidity and continuity, but the settlers give it passion. And whether it is a farmer arriving from a small town in Mississippi to escape the indignity of being observed by her neighbors, or a boy arriving from the Corn Belt with a manuscript in his suitcase and a pain in his heart, it makes no difference: each embraces New York with the intense excitement of first love, each absorbs New York with the fresh yes of an adventurer, each generates heat and light to dwarf the Consolidated Edison Company..."
E.B. White - "Here Is New York" (1948)I was sitting on the subway, the G train, heading down to Carroll Gardens to go to
Rocketship then hang out with
Dan, staring into space when my eyes focused in on the ad panel opposite me. It was a passage from an E.B. White essay, the one I've copied above. I read it a couple of times, taking it in, then had to look away because it felt like someone had caught my heart.
That's it, I thought.
That's exactly what the city means to me, one of that Third category. That's how it is. Or was. This time in NY has been strange. It's a trip I'd been postponing for a while, something was holding me back from booking tickets, but then I had no work lined up and everyone I wanted to see would be there before heading off on tour or to weddings or vacations. And it was great to be back and to see everyone, and go for brunch at
Florent, and get ice cream at 1am on Houston, and sit in Union Square eating apples and watching the streetfighters do their thing, and go to Coney for the day, and sit in
Sugar Sweet Sunshine drinking iced coffee... But I missed that buzz. That excitement that used to keep me going. That incredible awe of "Oh my god,
I'm living in New York."
Maybe it was the heatwave. That awful 40 degree heat where you didn't want to move, the heat lightning flickering all night, the a/c units and huge fans barely making a dent on the still, hot air. It saps your energy - half the things and people I'd wanted to do and see I didn't get round to, it was just too hot to do much.
But I've come back feeling strangely glad to be home - which is a first - and with a renewed sense of wanting to make a go of it now, here. I'll still miss my friends, but there's email and AIM/iChat and UK tours and London Fashion week and other things that'll bring them over. I'll miss the chutzpah of the city and the food (would someone
please open a Taco Bell over here?), and the great tradition of brunch which still hasn't caught on as much as I'd like over here. But I'm looking at London with new eyes, and I suddenly see that most of what I loved about
New York is available here. It's just a case of making an effort and looking.
