If you’ve heard the expression “You can’t go home again” I’m here to let you know that it’s definitely false because I have. Last week, after a year of not having Brooklyn, as my primary residence, I’m home again. It may be for only two weeks but in so many ways, it feels like I never left.
It’s not only being reunited with friends and family (and those friends who feel mike family), it’s everything such as some of the familiar -
- Sights: people walking, neighborhood stores, Yankee caps, brownstones and skyscapers
- Sounds: honking horns, subway screeches, the New York accent and even hearing my upstairs neighbors screaming at each other at all hours of the night
- Smells: pizza, coffee, bagels and even the urine smell feels vaguely comforting
In so many ways I feel like I’ve never left New York. I lived in my Brooklyn apartment longer than I’ve lived anywhere in my entire life. It pains me to even write in the past tense when it comes to where I live and Brooklyn but I’m not unhappy in California.
Quite the contrary, I have loved living in California. Not only do I love having more space (aka not living in an apartment), the green surroundings, the wonderful weather but my family and I have really enjoyed our new residence.
Not only did Wild Boy find friends in his new school, Jay and I did too. It’s not easy to make friends as adults and we’re both pretty lucky to have met some wonderful people in Los Angeles. As individuals and as a family, we have become part of different communities that have enriched our lives tremendously on the West Coast.
At the risk of bastardizing, a cheap, bad quote, “California has been bery, bery good to me.” People have asked if we are fully settled and as good as it has been, I can still say that New York is still the home in my heart.
I’ll admit that my judgment could be a tiny bit clouded by the fact that except for one day of rain that the weather in New York has been uncharacteristically idyllic for summer (read: little humidity and around 80ish degrees – kind of LA weather actually) but I know deep in my heart and soul that good weather isn’t the reason that I’ve been able to feel a sense of re-connection to the Big Apple.
When you’re a New Yorker, you’re always a New Yorker. Every transplanted New Yorker in Los Angeles that I’ve ever met still identifies with being a New Yorker no matter how long it’s been since they left.
After a year of acclimating so quickly to the West Coast, I feared that returning to New York this summer would make Wild Boy want to abandon his New York roots. It made me proud to hear that as soon as we got to our apartment from the airport, Wild Boy only wanted to take a walk and get a slice of pizza.
It’s home and always will be.