An Interlude

Being in love with a place is like being in love with a person: you are always the best version of yourself.

When you feel loved, you can do no wrong. You wake up every morning and no matter how shitty the day is, ultimately you find yourself charming, kind, smart, beautiful - nothing brings you down. When in love, you glow.

I knew no one in San Francisco, and yet I was totally at ease. I was calm, but still quirky; smart, but not elitist; savvy, but kind. I had removed all pressure - I wasn't performing. It didn't matter what anyone else thought of me because it was just me and my city, and I was content enough with that. There you have it: best version of myself.

I struggle occasionally in New York with a kind of regurgitated version of SF Lillian. She speaks the same words, but they no longer sound alive. I feel almost robotic - repeating phrases I picked up on the West Coast, which suddenly feel like cotton in my mouth. "I mean, I don't know, I feel lucky to have been there and now I'm excited to be here" to which my brain promptly responds "Shut up you stupid hippy." I will talk, but my mind is somewhere else (with the sun over the Pacific, maybe?).

I always become withdrawn after I lose love. I forget the person I was when I was in love, and I auto-pilot my way through daily interactions. It is difficult, I think, because I am so eternally shaped by my affairs that in the aftermath of the break up, or departure in this case, I have to relearn how to exist in my own body.

The New Yorker in me says "Fuck that. Let's go let's go let's go! Stay busy, start exploring, DO SOMETHING. Fake it til you make it, baby. Now MOVE."

The San Franciscan says "Be here now. There's nothing else you can do. It's all part of the journey."

And strangely enough, this is all the same advice.

The benefit of break ups, of heart ache, of home sickness, is that through that broken confusion, you find something better.

It just takes time. And patience. And plenty of alcohol.

And So It Begins...

So I moved back.

After seven months in a city that I loved, in a city that drew me to it before I even knew it, in a city where I felt free and easy, I moved back. Why?

Well, there is only one reason. Real Estate. In the end, it was just too good to pass up, this apartment I inherited. Because ultimately, it is more than just a really great apartment on the Upper West for super cheap. It's home. It's my life. (And secretly, I believe that my bohemian artist roommates and I are single-handedly saving the whole neighborhood from a yuppie invasion. It's really not such a secret. Besides, it's true.)

So I moved back.

I fell totally in love with San Francisco. I didn't realize what that meant, to fall in love with a place. It turns out, it is exactly what it sounds like - the city became my lover. I woke up grateful to be there, I spent hours just walking the streets, trying to discover every detail. I picked my favorite coffee shops, my favorite Mexican joints - I became "a regular." I knew which streets were the most beautiful, and how to avoid the hills. I learned this all quickly, voraciously, eagerly. It was head over heels, incomplete-without-you love, the kind where even the shittiest day, or the rainiest week can't make you miss your old lovers. I became quickly and irrevocably fond of the smallest annoyances, and gushingly pathetic over the great triumphs of my adopted city.

But, as with all my great love affairs, this one too came to a close because of distance. I had this lease. And I had to go back. I have tried, in the past, to keep my relationships going, to make the love stretch across all those miles. And I have always ended up missing parts of my life that were happening right in front of me because I was on the phone. Then the love affair ends anyway, and what is left? Nothing but empty lonely months that could have been spent being here now instead of there then.

So, I'm taking a lesson from my beloved city, the city that exists before and after and beyond time. I am learning to "just be" - just be present, just be where I am. And for now, I'm here.

Which is why I'm here, writing this blog.

It is not easy to come home. It is not easy to live in this apartment. Despite my good fortune, I am having trouble finding a reason to be here.

So

I'm keeping this blog to try to find the joy and excitement which came so easily in the sunshine state. I am keeping this blog to encourage myself to explore. I am keeping this blog so I will face New York like I've never been here before. I am lucky to be here, and I'm in, even if I have to force my eyes open in order to see this city.

Wish me luck.