An Open Apology to New York City

Today is February 1 and I have now been out of NYC for a month (though longer if you don't count the puny three days I was back after Christmas). If you had told me that I would miss it I would have laughed. If you had told me I'd miss it this soon after leaving I probably would have snapped at you. As if.

And here I am missing it. I read the Times online, I devour the New York mags that Brian sends me weeks later and I want to be there, where the action is, where the restaurants are, where the weird and wacky ingredients are just around the corner. Where people are overeducated and underpaid and have opinions on just about everything.

My leaving to go to culinary school was the best decision I could have made. Absence makes the heart grow fonder and already I can't wait to get back. Removing myself from the situation gives me a clearer view of what was really wrong. My everyday frustration: my job. I went too long being unhappy in it and feeling isolated and alone in a city where misfits go to feel like they belong. In some ways it was a sign that what I was doing was clearly not the right fit. But it prompted this change so the sign must have been strong enough, though it didn't happen soon enough. I lived in NYC for 4.5 years - the longest I've ever lived in one place in my entire life - of course it had an impact.