Photo Credit: Alex Whitney (thanks Alex!)

The first year I lived in Brooklyn, I had only been working in my job for six weeks or so when the holidays arrived. Because I didn’t have any vacation time to use, I had to fly back from St. Louis to New York City on Christmas day. I remember schlepping my luggage from the airport to the subway, trying to leverage suitcases and backpack through subway turnstiles, up steps and down long Brooklyn blocks.

Those were the less romantic days of life in New York – the days when cab fare wasn’t possible, and hard work was the only way I was going to get from Point A to Point B.

That was one of the loneliest Christmases I can remember. My roommates were all at home with their families, so my apartment was cold and quiet. When I arrived at work the next morning, I had the building almost entirely to myself.

When I heard news yesterday that all of the airports in the greater New York City area were shutting down for 24-48 hours, I was indescribably relieved that I wasn’t one of the many people stranded in a cold, lonely airport terminal. Reading this blog post in the New York Times’ “City Room” about stranded subway trains, made me even more glad (if that’s even possible) that I’m in Missouri with it’s pleasant little dusting of snow.

In the two years since I left New York, this might be the very first time when, in the deepest, darkest parts of my heart, I’m truly glad I’m not there. I hope my friends in New York brought home well-stocked pantries in their little apartments, and that they’re able to hole up inside until the roads are cleared and the subways begin running smoothly again.

In the meantime, I’m going to appreciate my dry, snowless drive to work today a little bit more than usual.

Tonight a friend in New York sent me this link to a live streamed album by a Brooklyn-based band called The National. I happen to be a big fan of The National, and have listened to two of their previous albums (Boxer and Alligator) countless times. I suppose there’s something about this group of NYC-transplanted Ohioans that I can relate to. And their music, well…it just moves me.

This newest album, High Violet, managed in its first two songs to bring me to tears.

“Terrible Love”, the fist song on the album, has background vocals reminiscent of Bon Iver, with grungy, industrial percussion that makes me think of Godspeedyoublackemperor. By the end of that song, The National had my full attention, and my mind had wandered to my ex. He and I split up in January of 2009, but he was my best friend in New York.

As if it had read my mind, the album goes on to a second track called “Sorrow”. With lyrics including, “It’s in my honey it’s in my milk. It’s only about half a heart alone. On the water, Cover me in rag and bones, sympathy. Cause I don’t wanna get over you. I don’t wanna get over you.”

As if their new album weren’t killing me already, The National had to tear my heart out a little bit more with its fourth track, “Little Faith”:

Now I’m stuck in New York
And the rain’s coming down
I don’t feel like we’ll go anywhere
Stuck in New York
And the rain’s coming down
Still in line for the vanity fair

Leave our excellent souls
Head for the coast
Leave our excellent souls
Everything goes

All our lonely kicks are getting harder to find
We’ll play nuns versus priests until somebody cries

So that’s that. I’ve not made it through the rest of the album yet, but so far it’s done exactly what music – in my opinion- is there to do; it’s made me feel. It’s stirred things, raised questions, unearthed emotions, and made me feel, well…alive.

Tommyknockers, photo by smalltowngirl

On December 30th, we sat in Tommyknockers Brewery in Idaho Springs, Colorado. In front of us were ten tiny mugs of beer and copious amounts of food. We’d just spent a day driving to Colorado from Missouri in a four wheel drive pick-up truck, which made my small town self giddy with country-girl glee. We were headed to Keystone the next day to snowboard, and I was starting to feel free from all of the bindings of New York City that have held on to me so tightly for the last ten months.

When I lived in New York, life was so expensive that I budgeted for things as small as a weekly trip to a local coffee shop. Snowboarding and cross-country road trips were laughable. Living in New York was an adventure in itself – an adventure on a higher level than riding down a mountain with a board strapped to my feet. I learned so much about myself there, and I loved (and sometimes hated) the years I spent there.

Somehow, though, over the last few days, I’ve finally let go of something about New York that I’ve been holding on too tightly to.  As we tasted our microbrews and ate fantastic food, I pulled my wallet out for something. Inside it sat my REI members card; a reminder of all the time I spent outdoors now that I’m out of New York. I was sipping Tommyknocker’s Maple Brown Ale when the following words left my lips:

“I’m not in New York City anymore. And I like it.”

Tony stopped what he was doing and looked at me. I felt my own jaw drop open just before a smile crept over my face. I’m not in New York anymore…and I LIKE it.  My eyes must have been asking if I’d really just said those words, because without me even having to ask him, Tony answered, “you really just said those words.”

On December 30th, 2009, I realized that I’m glad I’m not in New York City now. I still miss it, and I can’t deny that my life was shaped largely by the years I spent there. With that realization though, in a brewery in Colorado, a weight was lifted. While other bloggers may be posting New Year’s resolutions or Best of 2009 lists, I’m simply sharing the peace that comes from letting go of the past. Here’s to a wonderful 2010.

Central Park Leaves, photo by smalltowngirl

It’s not just New York that I miss, but then again, it’s probably never place, separate from the rest of life, that anyone misses. For the last two days, I’ve missed New York City with an aching, depressing, loneliness that only hits at the end of the day, when my guard is down, my mind is resting, and my heart takes control.

It’s not just the cold, windy streets of New York in November that I miss. It’s not just the feeling of the air on the day when a light jacket is no longer enough. It’s not just the weeks when the leaves disappear from the trees and orange leaves turn to brown that eventually becomes covered by snow. It’s not just the smell of the subway or the sound of my cowboy boots clunking against the concrete.

I miss more than that.

It’s not even just my yoga classes in the tiny, musty old basement of the YMCA in Greenpoint, even though those yoga classes brought me so much peace and clarity. It’s not just the long ride on the G train from Fort Greene to Long Island City to see the man who held me so close for so many months. And it’s not just the hot tea he’d fix me on cold winter nights when I arrived at his apartment, cheeks and nose reddened from the cold. It’s not just the two-eggs-and-cheese-on-a-kaiser-roll-and-a-coffee-with-cream-no-sugar that was my Friday morning street vendor breakfast tradition.

I miss more than that, too.

It’s not just the long walks on Sunday mornings, when Brooklyn was relatively still. It’s not just the dodgeball league I played on or my studio of piano students in Bensonhurst or my coworkers at the Garden. It’s not just the shortcuts I learned to take or the feeling of accomplishment that came from doing even basic things like laundry or grocery shopping in such a massive city. It’s not just the craftsman in Union Square or the dozens of great little shops in SoHo or the amazing wine bar in Fort Greene.

I miss everything about New York and what it represented in my life.

I miss that time when I was fresh back in the United States after twelve months studying Chinese and working and traveling in Asia. Nothing was too gritty, too real, too raw for me then. I miss my New York City love life and the man who loved me. I miss my tiny bedroom with my big window in my fourth story walk-up on my Cosby Show block in Brooklyn.

I miss the way I felt when I lived there; like the entire world was at my fingertips, and I could do anything. It felt like I was at the front edge of the world; of fashion, of finance, of the Arts…of pretty nearly everything.

So tonight I admit that for as much as I’m trying to love Missouri and seek out what’s beautiful and interesting and gritty and inspiring about this state, I miss New York City.  I still believe that the move back to Missouri was the right decision, but I miss New York with an aching throbbing loneliness that I don’t even know how to begin to address.