The What and the Why

There are two things as a New Yorker you don’t have to justify to other New Yorkers - what you’re doing there and why you don’t have a car.

These are the first two questions most people I meet in Midland, Texas need me to answer. The first one is easy - 

My husband works in oil and gas. 

This is a familiar narrative here, a city built by generational dynasties and industry transplants. The second question is met with quiet fascination -

What do you mean, you don’t drive? 

I moved to New York for school. I never learned.

Really? How do you even get around?

I Uber.

Wow. Well I can teach you if you want?

It’s sort of become my local folklore, ‘the girl who can’t drive,’ and I’d be tempted to hold on to that badge if it wasn’t an impossible task here. The only place I can walk to is the gym, and I’m learning that’s what golf carts are for.

But it’s the next line of enquiry that I find the most interesting, because I am constantly trying to answer it for myself -

Do you miss New York?

Do I? Yes, of course. And not at all. Sometimes I trace back half my life there in photographs, songs, raw memories. I read through scores of blogs where I wrote ad nauseam about the city, trying to paint a picture for an audience that couldn’t see,

One day you will wake up and the whole city will be brand new, like a snake shedding its skin. What was once familiar - a street, a face, a feeling - no longer attaches itself to a memory. Friends will become strangers. Strangers will become lovers. 'Home' will once again be a vague notion you chase but can't hold on to. New York will feel like magic and decay at the same time. And you'll look in the mirror and think,

When did I grow up?

This is why writing is an important exercise for me, because I find myself saying things out loud I never knew I believed. And it’s why I’m choosing to write again now, this time rooted in a place so wonderfully unfamiliar, most of the questions still to answer are my own. 

And there’s still plenty of growing up to do.