There’s definitely something wrong with me, because I feel better in New York.
Everyone — people who live here, people who’ve never even been here, people who got their idea of New York by watching “Friends” — will tell you that New York is no one’s idea of a relaxing good time. However, I’ve noticed something on my last couple trips home from other parts of the world: I start to relax the instant I see the lights of the city come up in the airplane window, or the institutional brick of Co-op City creep into my view from the train.
My theory is that the hecticness of New York appeals to my neurotic nature. Whatever the reason, it’s good to be home. Even if I am convinced that the Giant Roach of Sumatra is not foiled by caulking, but merely waiting patiently for me to leave my apartment. I’m totally sure that as soon as I shut off the lights, he creeps out and climbs all over my dishes and knives and coffee pot and sponges and dish-drainer and antibacterial soap and so on. He’s just gotten smart, y’see.
4 thoughts on “J’heart New York”
I think its more that its the joy of coming home. The relief and pleasure of knowing that soon you’ll be in your own “backyard” and in you apartment doing all the things that you normally do when you’re there.
Law of Perceptual Homedness:
Homedness is a function of the proximity of your
1. Source of income
The Law of Perceptual Homedness is is especially true if there is consistent clinical evidence of the virtually unlimited extendability of the psychic umbilical.
The Law of P.H. is one of the three laws that apply to one’s position on the contentment continum. The other two, I leave to general speculation.
Oops, haven’t gotten this commenting thing quite down yet. What I was going to say was…
I had quite a similar response when returning from my holiday away.
The only difference?
Yours was an emotional response triggered by some major landmark, like the skyline or co-op city.
Mine was triggered by a local landmark – the dude who frequents my streetcornere wearing little more than boxer shorts, a fuzzy vest (I think its chinchilla), and a smile.
And all this time Ms. Smash has perpetuated the charming myth that Home is Where the Hubley is. Now Pa Smash blows the thing out of the water with a Law of Perceptual Homedness. I just pray he doesn’t accidentally sever his umbilical with that psychic hedge clipper he’s perpetually wielding!