Tug of love

It’s been an interesting visit to New York. I’ve had good meals (Centro Vinoteca, Po, Balthazar, Emporio, The Standard Grill), good star sightings (Bruce, Demi & Ashton, Kirsten Dunst, Carine Roitfeld), I’ve gone to the movies (Julie & Julia, The September Issue, 500 Days of Summer, Funny People), seen Obama’s motorcade and Joseph Altuzarra's spring/summer show, met Amee’s fiancé (thumbs up—phew), and have had many wonderful visits with friends (Alex, Brandon, Cheryl, Mitchell, the girls…everyone). But overall? Exhausting.

And maybe that’s why I’m here. In the grand scheme of things, maybe coming to New York for two weeks was to realize that Paris is the city that makes me very happy and is a good fit for me for awhile—for where I am in life, and how I want to live. That I can and should take a break from New York. That it’s okay not to be in its arms for awhile. There’s no guarantee that we’ll have the same love when I return, but it’s no good being here right now.

New York has the ability to suck time out of a day like no other city. Every night, I’ve set the best intentions for the following day: errands, emails, writing, leisure and, oh yeah, fun… this is supposed to be vacation, after all. Two weeks, without work, in New York City. My only commitments have been parties and friends. So what's the problem? I’ve asked myself that every day.

I’ve been tense, on edge, and I haven’t been sleeping. I feel bad—bad because I can’t get excited about something that I once loved so much. And then I feel bad because I think I shouldn’t feel let down. But I do. I feel frustrated. I can’t fit everyone and everything in. I’ve been snappy with people, which only makes me feel worse. And that leads me to asking, what’s wrong with me? Why am I so short-tempered? Why am I exhausted? How can it be that I am not getting around to the things I thought I would get to, the things I wanted to do, the things I had been really looking forward to doing?

And I feel guilty on a more existential level. It’s like realizing that you’ve fallen out of love with someone. I keep thinking but, but, but… it’s used to be so different. I used to love this. I used to look forward to this and get such a thrill from it. This used to be my life. When that feeling wanes, you feel confused, conflicted, tormented. You want to make right again.

Now that the trip is nearly over, I’ve made peace with these feelings. I’m signing on for another nine months in Paris and I’m okay with letting go of New York until my return. It’s a little heartbreaking, and very alienating, to realize that everyone and everything is moving on (and moving to Brooklyn) without me. But that’s okay. I have Paris.

Now, more than ever, I know I am there for a reason. I know this all happened for a reason. I know it’s possible to fall in love with a city. And I’m looking forward to seeing what the city and the next nine months hold for me.