I would have found leaving New York much easier if I had ceased to love it. Then I could have made a proper case for myself. I could have explained what was wrong with the place, received the sympathetic agreement of people who had never liked it, and departed with the satisfaction of having recognized a mistake. Instead, I wanted to leave a city in which I could still imagine being very happy. Even while making plans to go, I would see something that made those plans seem ridiculous.
This was inconvenient. I wanted the clarity of a decision without having to surrender any of my attachments.
New York will always be home to me. I feel this with a certainty I rarely bring to more practical questions, such as where I should live. There are places one loves partly because they require so little explanation. I understood the pleasure of walking in New York without a particular purpose, of being alone among people who were occupied with their own lives, of going outside and finding the day already well under way. I liked the feeling that I could join it whenever I was ready.
