Remember that little story about the city mouse and her cuzzo, the country mouse? The city mouse is just the cat’s meow and invites her frumpy cousin from the country to stay with her in her fab bachelorette pad to experience real livin.’ Disaster ensues. It all boils down to comfort levels and different strokes for different folks.
I’ve always thought of myself as more of a city mouse. Syracuse isn’t exactly Manhattan, but it’s not the hickville most people associate upstate New York as (and no, this isn’t a rant about how upstate New York is more than cows and silos and people from Manhattan need to get over themselves b/c not everyone wants to live in a shoebox with 8 million of the most cynical people in the country; okay, end rant).
Growing up in New York (the state, not the city), I always assumed I’d end up in Manhattan one day. It seemed like the logical choice for me and my friends, being fortunate enough to live 5 short hours from arguably the best city in the
country. I was also fortunate enough to enjoy countless visits to Manhattan
throughout high school and college, the more formative years when I was establishing
my own opinions and realizing I was in charge of my own future. When my last
semester at college rolled around and the prospect of finding a “real job”
presented itself, I was more than surprised that the prospect of living and
working in Manhattan wasn’t all that appealing to me anymore.
I wanted to stay “local” (and I use that term loosely), but Manhattan isn’t the only metropolis in the Northeast. When I applied to an AmeriCorps position in Boston I didn’t know at the time that it would lead to some of the best experiences of my life and my eventual relationship with this guy.
What, doughnut eating isn't a skill you look for in your mate?
I took a bus down to Manhattan this weekend. Instead of the usual 4 straight forward hours, this bus was apparently for people who’ve never been to NYC before; we entered the city near Harlem and drove a hundred blocks through the city to the eventual drop off at 28th St. The guy next to me was taking pictures on his phone and I was surprised to find my usual snarky inner monologue nowhere to be found. Because a drive through the streets of New York City can be full of Kodak moments (but if you’re looking for said Kodak moments, this isn’t the place; I’m a lazy blogger, remember?)
Manhattan isn’t the city for me, something I’m reminded of every time I visit. The honking, the garbage, the blatant rudeness? Fuhgeddaboudit. But every time I visit I’m also reminded of just how magical it is. The history, the culture, the endless options of food and entertainment and nightlife? I mean, I guess I can get on board w/ that.