New York City!!!!!!!!

After so much buildup, our arrival into the city was quiet, both of us so fatigued after a long day of driving, the heat, and just the emotional toll of what it took us to get us here, physically and mentally. We drove off the ferry, driving through picturesque Cape Cod towns until we got on the I-95. We whizzed through Rhode Island, stagnated through Connecticut, and made our way into the city. So many memories were stirred as we did this drive, almost a drive through of my life before husband, child, now. I recalled the trip to Brown to party with friends, my drive from New Haven, trying to flee from my shattered heart--only to learn those scars are now a part of your constantly morphing DNA. Our son fell asleep somewhere between Massachusetts and Rhode Island, leaving us alone as my IPOD shuffle played songs that mean different things to one another, this musical landscape of our past as teenagers, young adults, and then as a couple.

As our station wagon made our way down the FDR, I sighed in amazement that we were headed home. These initial feelings were so immense, so huge, so awe inspiring. This was now home, finally after having waited for over 10 eternal years. My first entrance into our new home was filled with the expected emotional fallout of something that had been built up to mythic proportions: shock, regret, oh no, anxiety. The morning light, as our son woke us up, brought the disorganization of our physical life into sharp view, throwing me into hyper drive to put our lives into instant order. My husband walked us across the street to pick from two bagel shops for our first breakfast in our new city. I could probably write an entire blog about my love affair with the bagel. And that first bite made me realize what I had been yearning all those years in LA when I would drive miles to Noah's. This dingy shop didn't have the brightness, newness of Noah's, nor did it have tables of Koreans noshing on this very Jewish staple. Instead, the shop was owned by Koreans, as are all the little stores in our neighborhood, it seems. But the bagel was sublime, perfection. I realized there was no need to buy a dozen bagels to hoard at home since I could walk across 1st Avenue each morning to satisfy this breakfast ritual.

Our first two days passed in a haze as I sorted through the remnants of our lives that had crossed 3000 miles in boxes labeled NY1. What had been designated for here are now arranged on shelves, drawers, and teeny closets. I feel the absence of all my many books, waiting for the day when they will be released from storage to fill up shelves. What few books did get picked for this part of my journey seem disconnected, like an archipelago of islands, each one alone to represent a writer, a form, a time period, missing its counterparts now hidden inside the cavern of boxes and a dark, dank warehouse.

I look outside my window that looks out on to a courtyard of sorts, facing other identical red brick buildings with an arrangement of windows. Some windows have shades drawn closed, some shades not visible, all of them a signal to lives unfolding behind those boxes of glass. This city, which had bewitched me since the age of 5, is now home to this middle aged adult. Funny, how life's turns and twists unravel in such a way to keep you always guessing.

My son and I walk down sidewalks, each of us absorbing the sights, sounds, smells of this place. Each turn around a corner is another adventure as we discover this city, our new home.