Living in New York requires a lot of sacrifice. For many of us, we rely on public transportation as opposed to owning a car conveniently parked in our garage. We live in tiny apartments where we can hear our neighbors’ movements. We carry our groceries all the way home. We walk no matter the weather: hot, humid, or freezing.
And of course, we pay more for everything than any other city in this country.
Why do we do it? We love New York. Why do we love New York? For so many reasons. One such reason is the New York moment.
A New York moment leaves you thinking, “Only in New York.” A New York moment makes all the sacrifices worth it, in a moment. A New York moment confirms you’re a New Yorker.
Last Thursday I experienced such a moment. My friend Michelle came over to work out with me. I hadn’t worked out in months; seriously MONTHS! So I was looking forward to getting back in the habit. We made plans to reward ourselves with sushi after we sweat away the pounds. Instead, we spent an hour talking shop, and then hopped on the urinal (NYC subway) for sushi. I considered the few blocks of walking enough of a workout.
After the second round of sushi, we waved our white flags, paid and decided to go on a Manhattan stroll. It was the perfect night for a walk from East to West Village; that beautiful weather between summer and fall. Only a few minutes into our walk, we were stopped by fellow New Yorkers lost in the village. As we got out our handy iPhones to help them find the restaurant they were looking for, another fellow New Yorker on a bike stopped and asked if we’d look up a restaurant for him as well. We were starting to feel like we had google stamped on our foreheads. (Google, I’ll stamp my forehead if you pay for advertising space.)
Cute guy on a bike started asking us questions about how long we’ve lived in New York, where we’ve lived and other such questions. I was confused by this interaction. Why didn’t he cycle away when he got his answer? Usually, such interactions can be filed away under attraction, but I didn’t feel he was attracted to either one of us. After a few minutes, cute guy on a bike peddled away.
Michelle and I walked away discussing this peculiar interaction. Michelle, a southerner, thought he was just nice. I agreed. He was polite and respectful. I felt those were definite signs he’s gay. Michelle wasn’t buying it, and told me to stop judging him.
We were on a cozy little West Village street with very few people out, except for the charming man approaching us. As he was passing us, I was defending my case to Michelle. Louder than I meant, I countered with, “I’m not judging him. I just said he’s gay.” It is at this New York moment our charming passerby busted out laughing, turned back to us and chuckled, “That was hilarious.” We could hear his laughter all the way down the street.
Sometimes New York moments come at your expense, but they’re always worth it.
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