10 years in the city

This summer it’s ten years since I started college in the city (and also ten years I’ve been best friends with my college friends). Aside from my year in London and Uganda, I’ve lived in New York the whole time. The apartment I just moved out of was my third New York apartment - my second in Brooklyn.

Last night I was chatting with a bartender at the airport, who charged my laptop for me and talked me into opting for the better Pinot Grigio (worth it). He asked where I was from (because I said I hate Boston) and when I said New York he asked, “Born and raised?” I said yes and he was skeptical, so I clarified: “Suburbs. But I’ve been in the city for ten years.”

I didn’t even realize I was lying! I guess I don’t have an obligation to tell everyone I talk to that I’ve moved back in with my parents, but I took the 7:01 Metro North train into the city yesterday morning with my dad (I was the only woman amongst all the suits in my train car, by the way)… I’m officially a resident of the suburbs. I changed my address and my voting registration and I’m almost all settled into the garage (a lightbulb and picture frame pending). “10 years in the city” is, for the time being, over.