Arrivals and Departures

Seventeen years ago, this month, I moved into my first apartment in New York City. August is a pretty common month to move somewhere new. Almost all of my prior, and subsequent, moves have been in August too. Most apartments have one-year leases, so this makes sense, but I still think it’s funny that this has become the norm for renters wherever they live, not just in New York. It’s strange how much the school year stays with us into adulthood. August becomes associated with move-in day. September, still, fills me with excitement for a new year and new possibilities. (I also get very excited about sales on school supplies, but that’s a whole other topic.) 

This August is hitting me a little differently. It’ll be my fifth summer in a row of not moving at all, a rarity for New York renters in general, but the concept of moving is all around me. It’s been a light breeze for a few years now, but it is howling in high winds this year. 

When I first moved to New York, I had a handful of friends from college who softened the transition for me, but finding a way to connect with new people was proving difficult. My graduate program was designed for people who already had a life outside of school. Classes were at night and we all worked during the day. I barely saw my roommates, let alone found time to socialize with them. And I liked my fellow baristas at the cafe where I worked just fine, but none became actual friends. It wasn’t until I started working in publishing, a little less than a year later, that I found “my people.” The first of whom was another unpaid intern who sat next to me in a large office shared by multiple literary agencies. She became one of my first real friends in the city who I didn’t already know from college, and she remained my friend long after those college friends and I lost touch. This week, I am saying goodbye to her before she moves across the country with her family. 

They are not the only ones with plans to move. Other close friends who are, or will be, leaving New York are mainly those with kids who need more space, or others who are simply “done” with New York, which happens. I’m not there yet, but I’m not immune to the possibility it can happen to me someday too. We’re all in our late thirties and forties, and it’s hard not to think about “the next half” at this stage of life. Living in New York is expensive and difficult and cramped, and it’s easier to ignore that when you’re young and energetic and figuring out who you are. Being forty in New York City is a decision. 

One friend told me he doesn’t see the point in staying in a small apartment just to live in a city he rarely gets to experience, nor has any pressing desire to, anymore. This made complete sense to me, but I also keep thinking about it. I am a homebody at heart, and as a freelancer, I can live anywhere without any real loss to my business. I choose to stay here because it’s home. I love it. My life is not the same one I lived in my twenties because I’m no longer that person and, really, who has the energy? But thankfully New York is whatever city you need it to be. At thirty-nine, I spend more nights in than out, but my preferred nights out are, still, ones I can’t have in many other places. I know why my friends - especially the ones with kids - can’t justify staying for any of those reasons anymore. Not when the average rent for a two-bedroom apartment is reaching $5,000/month, and yes, you read that correctly, and no, it probably still won’t have in-unit laundry. So, I get it. I really do get it. But, man, I will miss them.

I’ve had close friends leave the city before, of course. It’s hard not to see people come and go over the span of seventeen years. But it hasn’t happened quite so “all at once” like this. And it certainly hasn’t happened in such a symbolic fashion because another person leaving the city this month is my boyfriend’s son, who has been part of my life since he was eight years old and is my family and is now heading to college. (Which is really a whole other newsletter topic in itself that I have yet to fully unpack...)

You experience an entire lifetime between your first and last years of college, but it’s hard for me not to think of how close he is in age to how old I was when I moved to New York. With so much around me feeling like it’s ending, including, in many ways, the current version of my stepson, his life is just about to begin. And as a result, the city is about to change, once more, for my boyfriend and me. Life is always starting over again. Which version of home does New York need to be for us now? What happens if we lose all of the pieces that made it home in the first place? Not just the place we live, not just “the greatest city in the world,” but home. Do we need to stay here at all? Would we even want to? Right now, that answer is still a resounding “yes!” but with so many departures on the horizon, there's a question mark at the end of that “yes!” that did not used to be there. It’s blurry and faded, and I can still see the exclamation point in bold over it, but it’s there.

FUN STUFF

What I'm Reading: The Infinite Miles by Hannah Fergesen

What I'm Watching: Yellowjackets

What I'm Listening To: Honestly? Not much. Recommendations welcome!

What I'm Eating: Milk Bar Cornflake Chocolate Chip Marshmallow Ice Cream