This is the first of a series of posts bringing this blog to a close on July 4th as a site for the everyday expression of one settler's passion for life in New York City. Although this blog will continue, the posts will not be daily, as they have been almost without exception since last July 4th when my brother John suggested I start a blog about my love for New York. Rather, I will post only occasionally here (not more than once a week) and only when I am truly moved to write.
It now surprises me every time I hear about someone who doesn't care for New York or hates New York or is indifferent to New York. In many ways, it is an impossible place - rude, cramped, dirty, and endlessly noisy. But all of these qualities are the necessary concomitants of its energy, its joys, and its unrivaled variety. I can't imagine living anywhere else, as I find I am now fueled by its vitality, animated by its lessons, shaped by its endless possibilities.
It seems to me that a single year of New York living has yielded more learning, more growth, more exposure to a wide world of yeasty experience than 20 years in almost any other place I have lived - including Albuquerque, New Mexico; St. Paul, Minnesota; Burlington, Vermont; Long Island, New York; or Urbana, Illinois. The number of plays I have seen, musical events I have attended, classic movies I have viewed, museums I have visited, poetry readings I have heard, or book talks I have witnessed in just a few months exceeds the sum total of such experiences in all the other places I have lived. It is all true, but it astounds me nonetheless to say this. New York has become a symbol for full tilt living for me. I think I would die a premature death if I were separated from it for too long.
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