If I can make it here…

I’m in New York City for the first time since 2019.

I lived in New York for a long time in a lot of neighborhoods – Upper West Side and Hell’s Kitchen in Manhattan; Park Slope, Red Hook, and Flatbush in Brooklyn; and Mott Haven in the Bronx. I was a good New Yorker – I did it all. I could get anywhere in 40 minutes or less on the subway; I spent more nights that one can count in dark smokey clubs listening to live music (and I could even hold my breath long enough to use the bathroom at CBGB); I had daybreak meals at Veselka or Coffee Shop; I dated more than my share of musicians, actors, and filmmakers – a few famous ones, many who will never make it, one whose single appearance on Sex and the City became an instant classic. I’ve been mugged, witnessed a shooting, overdoses, and the attack on the World Trade Center from a block away; and once paid a prostitute to drive my car from impound when I discovered my license had lapsed. I earned two degrees in NYC, found my career, started a successful non-profit in my 20s and another in my 40s, fell in love many times, and out of love a couple times. I even know how to pronounce Kościuszko. I could leave New York.

A lot has happened since I left – there was a worldwide pandemic and a nearly year long lock down; we got a new president; there was an attempted insurrection; I’ve had two jobs and discovered my great passion for pickleball. I’m not sure why I haven’t been back. in the past four years, I’ve left the country three times, been to Massachusetts four times, and hit up Montana, New Hampshire and Maine. Since I moved to Cleveland 8 months ago, I’ve been back to Miami Beach twice. But something kept NYC at arms length.

And now I’m back and it’s great. New York is back as they say, but I’m pretty sure it was never gone. Traffic, homelessness, and random smells remain, but so does everything else. Upon arrival, I quickly met up with my oldest, dearest Esme for a quick zip across town to the East Side to see some art. Then we zipped back to walk my old stomping grounds at Lincoln Center (I was eager to see the renovated David Geffen Hall and while it did not disappoint, the giant disco ball over the fountain was the real treat. One more zip and we had dinner in the latest iteration of our favorite corner bistro, joined by her teenagers. I walked Broadway from 105th back to 71st where I’m staying, soaking in the familiar sites and the new ones.

Saturday morning, I walked through Central Park, checked out the amazing pickleball courts that have sprung up on Wollman Rink (but they were fully booked so I couldn’t play), and indulged in my first bacon, egg, and cheese sandwich in four years.

On a whim I ducked into the place where I used to get my hair cut and my longtime stylist volunteered to give me a blowout for free. “No hairspray or anything that smells like lavender” he said, making my heart explode with gratitude for being remembered (until I had a slight panic that it was because I’m so difficult). He was well-tipped.

With the Hooter’s 1985 classic “And We Danced” pumping out of my airpods on repeat, I did a nostalgia walk though the Union Sq Farmers Market, to my shopping mecca ABC Carpet, and jumped a subway back to the Upper West Side. Some primping later, I was ready for the main event, a wedding at the chapel at Columbia University – which of course meant a run through the Barnard campus as well. Walking through the Columbia gates and up the steps by Alma Mater…I may as well have had one of Proust’s madeleines, the memories flooded back so quickly.

The chapel, which I entered for the first time that day despite four years at the university (my atheism took hold young), was beautiful. It was a special treat to see the harpist playing us in was an old friend, since I knew no one else there. The groom and I worked together at a job that was no good for either of us, but we had each other. This is the kind of wedding I’d normally skip, but he called me with the most wonderful request about how I’d served as a mentor to him and how he owed so much of his success professionally and personally to me. Appropriately flattered, I couldn’t not go.

My personal issues with happy endings, loving intact families, and joining lives together (that is a subject for another blog, which I will likely share only with my therapist), the wedding was perfect – funny, meaningful, and short. Among the readings was the Bright Eyes song “Kathy with a K”, which of course made me smile. The reception was fancy and casual and joyous. Both the bride and grooms family spoke lovingly and any my table full of the brides former colleagues from Conde Nast Travel were charming and (hopefully) charmed by me. And we danced and danced and danced!

It was a fairy tale wedding and I am confident that they will live happily ever after.

I’d initially had no plans for Sunday and then just like that I was booked solid.

First stop, back to Bryant Park for croissants and coffee, with my mentor, the great Jami Bernard. Film buffs know Jami for her expansive writing about the medium, partnerships with some pretty famous directors, and for being the target of Mel Gibson’s fatwa when she wrote a less than stellar review of his Jesus film. I met Jami about 10 years ago when she was teaching a class at for Barnard alums (she’s class of 1978) on memoir writing. I had googled her extensively before the class began and was more than a little bit intimidated to meet her. We had all submitted work and she was pulling out examples that she like and having us identify ourselves. After saying “and this one made me laugh out loud” she read my piece and I melted into a million pieces.

Jami and I found we had lots in common and over many cups of coffee and long walks around all five boroughs of NY we became close friends. We gave each other advice on life and love and she kept up the drumbeat of my writing. She only half jokingly refers to me as her greatest failure, since I was never able to complete a book. Today, I told her about an idea I had and the trouble I was having actualizing it. Over the course of the next two hours she set me straight about the book and my life – like Cher slapping Nicolas Cage to “snap out of it,” she shared much needed and not always kindly delivered real talk. Maybe it’ll work this time.

From the park I headed to Grand Central to hop Metro North for lunch in Westchester with my jet lagged sister, who’d just landed from a week in Europe. She brought me a single bar of my favorite British candy, now hidden away for a reward when I hit some book milestone. We talked about her trip and walked along the Hudson and ate delicious August tomatoes.

Back in the city, I popped into the Bloomingdales outlet store and bought new clothes for the first time in four years (I’ve not been particularly fashion inspired in either Miami Beach or Cleveland). Silk and cashmere now jammed into my already busting at the seams weekend bag, and it was time for dinner.

One final walk down Broadway to dinner with Harvey. Harvey married into my NY chosen family, he was husband to my wonderful friend Anita, whom we lost a couple years ago, but he’s become a core member. Over dry white wine and seafood, we caught up about work and travel, talked about movies and the future. It was like one perfect final hug for my weekend in the city.

I’m not sure why it took me so long to get back to New York, but its great to be here. I have an early flight out tomorrow, but I can leave knowing that I’m still a really good New Yorker.