
I'd work very hard, go to the symphony in the evenings, walk through Central Park on the weekends, and hang out with gritty sophisticates at jazz clubs after hours. I'd spend a lot of time reading and talking to people in their native languages and traveling the world. And I'd write, oh I'd write.
I'm not quite sure where I got that idea from.
The reality, of course, never quite measures up to the dream.
New York is a hard city, fair reader. People — even the natives — say that all the time here.
By coincidence, a friend who has been through similar circumstances called. A native New Yorker, she decided to try out the West Coast life. It took her a few years before she loved L.A., she said.
After she finally found her groove, she decided to move back to New York. It was a hard decision, but she felt it was the right one.
The night before she moved cross-country, we went out for drinks. She was tired from weeks of packing. Her spirit seemed drained too, exhausted from the emotional force it takes to let go of one place and prepare for another. Once she got back to New York, she said, she'd be in good shape.
You, she said, you've got to go easy on yourself. Living here is all new to you, and it takes a while to figure out how to do it.
I pride myself on being adaptable, but one begins to realize that dramatic change requires a lot of time before it becomes a new state of normal.
It's not 30 days, or 45 days, as some had told me before I moved. Since I've been here, I've met others who have pulled up from far places. Some say they'd now miss this city too much to ever leave. Others say while they heart NY, it's a waypoint.
But regardless of the intent to stay, the consensus is it takes at least a year to start appreciating living here. Less time if you've got close friends and family in the area. Longer if you're on your own.
It's funny, my friend said. You may hate it and hate it for a year, then it's a year and a day and it all comes together. You never know.
I smiled. The karmic optimism was so L.A.