On our first date, I told my husband, “One thing you should know about me is that I’m never leaving NYC.” It was a sexy approach. I was what you would call a die-hard New Yorker (possibly – probably – annoyingly so). I was born and bred there and then chose to move back to bear and breed my own. NYC and I were, in a sense, married – mostly happily. That girl got to me and more importantly, formed who I am. In love might be strong, but I did love her.

I didn’t love NY for the theater or the museums or anything artsy. Fuck that commotion, though okay, okay, I’ve been to truly amazing theater, some of it by luck, like when I saw Rent (which I’d never heard of at the time) with its original cast because a friend really wanted to and dealt with buying 8 tickets (during which time I likely complained about going due to “not digging musicals”), or by accident when I happened to buy tickets to Ann Ranking’s last performance of Chicago in New York. Aaah, the 90s. (Yes, these are both musicals, the irony is not lost here).

What I loved (love!) New York for is the convenience (insomnia cookies delivered? Roger), the pace and the vibrancy and the people. And by people, I don’t just mean family and friends – though so much that – but my fellow New Yorkers who speak the unspoken language of going down the stairs on the right, not making eye contact unless it’s to roll your eyes at a common annoyance, not stopping when you get the the top of the subway stairs for the love of all things and not needing (or wanting) to make small talk. People say New Yorkers are rude, but what we are is gruff. And in a rush. We’ll help you (mostly or okay sometimes) but don’t expect a nice tone along with it.

My favorite way I’ve heard it put is is this: Californians are nice but not kind (if you have a flat tire, people will walk by and say things like “Aw, man, that sucks, dude.” And New Yorkers are kind but not nice (if you have a flat tire, inevitably some guy will come over saying “nah, nah, you’re doing that shit all wrong.” And he’ll wordlessly take over and your tire will be fixed.

Anyway. Over the years, husband would casually say things like “we could save a lot of money by moving to the burbs.” And I would answer things like “not happening while I’m alive.” Or, more succinctly, “No.” (Not the money saving part – that’s lovely. The rest.)

Back to my 1st first marriage. When we are in a good place (NYC and I), we jibe. Some of the reasons the two of us click: I am someone who will run to make the light even when I’m not in a rush (no explanation other than it’s obviously criminal to miss a light); use an app called “Exit Strategy” which shows you where in the subway you should be at your destination to be closest to the exit (WMATA, please get on this) and I once had a black and blue mark the size of a tennis ball on from racing down the subway stairs to make train and falling – literally – on ass whilst doing so (Sidebar: Made the train. Other sidebar: No one asked if I was okay. I know I said New Yorkers will help you, but note the “sometimes.” This was not one of those times. Told myself it was because I look too tough for “help”).

But…..I’m also someone who hates noise, most people and crowds. In fact, as much as I love the old gal, I’m not sure Tinder would have matched NY and me. Still, I didn’t want to leave, leaving is for wusses. And this bish ain’t a wuss.

Then, 16 years into my 2nd marriage (this time to a human), life happened. Or more like my kids’ school tuition bill arrived. When I tell you it amounted to more than some colleges (including room and board), it is not an exaggeration. Even this native could see that continuing to throw more and more shekels on, say, middle school, was problematic and also kind of absurd. So, in 2019, we decided that 2020 was the year of change and we were going to move in June, once the kids were done with school. Cute and naive right?

And yet. Despite arriving mid pandemic, despite leaving a week after a cancer diagnosis (I’m doing well, thanks!), despite my kids being in virtual school/not meeting anyone for almost a year….a funny thing happened. This urban ride or die chick kind of loved the peace and quiet of the suburbs. Who dis? It turns out that much of what I love about NYC (the convenience of, well, everything) is also doable elsewhere. It turns out, that having upstairs neighbors really kind of sucks ass. Ditto piles and piles of garbage boiling in the summer sun.

But this is not an “I hate NY” post. Please. It’s more like New York and I ran our course, and then she unexpectedly let me fly.