My Not So Distant New York State of Mind

At a little after 8am this morning, I hugged and kissed Jack goodbye in front of the Southwest drop off at Denver International Airport. I hoisted my overstuffed backpack onto my shoulders, feeling a little like I did when I was 18 years old and left home in Southern California for Evanston, Illinois., having never been there before. Or when I was 27 years old and took People's Airline (who remembers that??) one way to NYC.

Both were leaps of faith, like I hope this trip will be. 

Truthfully, I didn't think today was going to happen. The weather up and down the North East coast was foreboding. My flight out of Denver was delayed 45 minutes, then one hour, then two plus.  

Normally, something like flying into a huge storm, or the possibility of my trip of a lifetime being delayed or even canceled, would send me into anxiety. Ask my family. They know, all too well, that I'm not the most relaxed traveler. I stress over each detail, worry about being too early, or running behind.  I worry about it all.

But today, perhaps because I was on my own, in my own time and space, or maybe my mom whispering in my ear to relax, I stayed calm.  I hung out at the gate, people watched, and trusted that it was all going to be all right. 

And it was. We boarded and left Denver at 12:35PM. Landed in NYC sometime after 6:15PM. I gave myself lots of time to find baggage claim and the ride share area. Within 15 minutes, my Lyft driver drove quietly away from La Guardia Airport.  

This was truly happening. 

I looked out the window, the skyline obscured by the rain. A skyline I used to know really well after living here for close to ten years. A skyline that used to fill me with a thrill I'd never felt toward a place before.

When Jack and I first moved here as a young artists - me an actress, him a poet -  we'd walk and talk for hours up and down and all across the city streets. As we walked, Jack used to ask me, "Trank (we're on a last name basis - another story), do you love New York?"

For most of those years, the answer was a resounding, YES. I truly, deeply, madly loved New York. I consider it to be one of the great loves of my life. 

Tonight, I felt a twang of sadness as I searched the skyline for familiar forms kissing the misty sky.  The New York of my late 20s and early 30s is part of not only my distant past, but the city's as well. Every time I visit, I feel less and less of a connection to that bold, brave young woman who moved here to pursue her dream and to the city that made her feel she could conquer the world. 

It had been a long day. The hours of delay, the nervous emotion of embarking on this journey, the uncertainty of the weather. I checked into my hotel room, the bed luring me into thinking I would order food in, feeling weary. I was ready to climb under the covers and call it a night.

Then I opened the curtains. 

The thrill was back.

Really,  a view of the fog enshrined Empire State Building? The only thing missing was King Kong and Faye Wray. 

​I put on my shoes and headed out. My feet landed in a familiar cadence, the cadence of walking in a place that couldn't care less that it's been more than 30 years since I called this city my home. Didn't care that I traded city streets for mountain trails. New York, in it's gruff way, is always ready to welcome me back, even if it's only for one day. 

I turned the corner of W. 37th onto 6th Avenue. I walked into a taco place and was welcomed like I belonged here. I think the manager even said, "nice to see you again." 

On the way back to the hotel, food in hand, I felt the tug of a familiar question. I swear I could hear Jack ask, as if he was right by my side, "Trank, do you love New York?"

Yes, Greene. I still do. 

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