Leaving New York - A Year Later

Your values shape your decisions. It's okay if your values differ from mine or if mine differ from yours. I value the importance of loving where you live. If you can choose where you live, it can be one of your most meaningful decisions.

I spent the majority of my life in Louisiana and, in my early twenties, began to feel the urge to leave. I had always been restless, but this was unlike anything I had experienced before. While my wife and I had moved around quite a bit, it was only from one house to another. We attempted to bring some variety into our lives while striving for stability.

It wasn't long after I turned 30 that I found myself standing on a baseball field with a good friend about fifteen years older than me. I always appreciated his perspective on things. It was another hot and humid day in south Louisiana, of which there were many. He had lived in Louisiana his entire life, so I asked him if he wanted to move somewhere new. His response was like a slap to my soul, one that wakes you up and becomes a literal turning point in your life. He said, 'I don't want to leave Louisiana, ever, so I probably never will.' I will always remember those words; he said and meant them.

Honestly, he was happy about it and at peace. He had been working at the same job for two decades and driving the same route to work each and every day. He routinely took the same vacations each year - just a short five-hour drive east to the beaches of Florida. For him, his world was right. For me, it felt too repetitive and small. I didn't want that, and in fact, I feared it. This was one of those 'ah hell no' moments where you see your future and don't like what you see. You immediately gain the courage - or panic - and start deciding to avoid that fate. I didn't want to be forty-five years old, still dealing with this restlessness, and it wasn't long after that we got an opportunity for change.

Some say the first move is the hardest, but I didn't think so. Leaving Louisiana was easy for me. I was looking forward to experiencing new cultures, having new routines, meeting new people, and seeing what other places had to offer. This was no disrespect to my hometown, but it was time to move on. That said, I would miss the people, the unique traditions, and the food.

I was excited about the new adventures and opportunities in our new home. As a young family, it felt like perfect timing to start anew. We settled in Birmingham, AL, and did our best to enjoy and make the most of that season.

We spent four good years in Alabama. But after the third year, I began feeling restless again, and it was time to go. While we made many wonderful memories there, it never truly felt like home. Life is short, and we didn't want to put it on autopilot and stick it out for a decade or more. We started dreaming again, and after selling most of our belongings, we headed north.

My wife and I had always dreamed of living in New York City, and after leaving Alabama, we had the opportunity to live that dream for four and a half years. Then COVID hit, and things changed. We never saw ourselves leaving New York but decided to do so a little over a year ago. I miss it a lot. But I've also learned a lot through the process. This was our fourth state as a family, but this move was the hardest. It wasn't about restlessness and adventure; the first two moves were exciting, but this one wasn't. It was overwhelming sadness, with some form of relief. It was the best decision for us.

I can only recall a few times I've cried in my adult life. One was when my paw paw died, and the second was when our dog Duke died. Third, I don't remember if I did, but I probably cried tears of joy when the Cubs won the World Series. Lastly, I cried my last night in the city. My wife and the kids were already in Colorado, and I was alone that evening, sitting on a bench in Battery Park City, staring at the sunset over the Hudson River. A bench that we sat at dozens of times, knowing this would be the last time, for now, as a resident. 

As I reflect on the changes of the last decade, I realize my surroundings' impact on my sense of contentment and my natural bent towards restlessness. I have always enjoyed change and excitement and passed that down to my daughter. God help her. New York best fits my personality of all the places we've lived or visited. Every day offers a constant stream of new experiences.

I want to share my love letter to New York that I typed out on my flight to Denver the day I left. Writing this helped me mark the end of another season. Over a year later, when I re-read it, it brings me back to these moments that had so much meaning. 

Dear New York City

Life is full of seasons, consistently marked by a beginning and an end. I cannot believe this is the end, at least for now. For some reason, it feels out of place, unexpected, even though we chose it. I never thought we would.

For years, we would visit and pretend to live in this city, dreaming of a day we would. I used to walk around Central Park, look at the many park benches, and think to myself, "I wonder what it would be like to live here, to sit on these benches, take in the day, and people watch as a New Yorker, not as a tourist." I wanted it to be a normal part of our everyday life, not something to check off a list for two weeks out of the year. Well, for five years, we were able to.

I am beyond thankful for the people we work with and for believing in us and this idea of "working remotely" before it became normalized. We've lived a dream, and for that, we are thankful.

Embracing new seasons can be exciting, but it can also be challenging. While we have made the gut-wrenching decision to move, this is the right move for the next season of our family's life. I have embraced all the emotions, and I am sure more will come over time, but I leave mostly with thankfulness. Even though we have chosen to go, I struggle with the feeling that we have "failed" to make it, but that's not the truth. We didn't just make it; these have been the best years of our lives, and we thrived.

This is my love letter to a city I have always loved but have only grown to love more. It's a special place with special people, and now we have special memories we've made for ourselves. My soul has been at home here. It's strange to say it that way, but it's true. The chaos and energy of the city bring me peace and rest. They say if you can make it in New York, you can make it anywhere. That may not be true because if you can make it in New York and love it, leaving and making it somewhere else might be difficult. Now that we know what it's like to love where you live let's hope we can make it somewhere else.

We moved to the city knowing no one, with no clue of how we would afford it, where we'd live, what life would be like, or what our long-term plan may be. But we figured it out.

When I think of home, I think of my wife and kids and wherever we are together, but now I also think of New York City. These have been the best five years of my life. This has been home. Was it easy? Not all the time. Was it worth it? Absolutely. Even though the last two years have been difficult, some of our best memories have been made. I am leaving thankful but extremely sad. But sadness means it mattered. It means it was special. There is pride in being a New Yorker, and I feel loss in losing that.

My approach to this is simple. As I sit on this plane, exhausted from moving and drinking a cheap cabernet, I want to say cheers to the things I loved, the things that were challenging, and the many things not listed. I will miss all the memories.

I'll never forget approaching the Lincoln Tunnel from Jersey the day we moved, about to cross over into the city for the first time to go to our apartment. It was a surreal moment. As I navigated the UHAUL driving south on Broadway, I found myself praying that I wouldn't hit any of the cars parked on the side of the road as I turned left onto Ann Street. This is a tight street. I wasn't sure if that was the correct turn to take. Somehow, I made it to the apartment building without knowing where to park. So, I did what made sense, left it parked on the street, and ran inside to find out. I went outside only to find a friendly "welcome to New York" parking ticket. For some reason, I didn't care. We got moved in. Lynn and the kids arrived a few hours later. We made it! We live in New York City.

There is energy in the streets of New York that I will miss dearly. I will miss the smell of food carts and the sounds and vibrations of the subway underneath my feet. I will not miss the constant smell of dog piss that our dog actively contributed to. When there is no grass around, what are they supposed to do? I will miss a kind of cold that penetrates your bones, determined by the direction the wind is blowing, which creates wind tunnels that greet you around every corner. I will miss it because you dress for it, and it's uncomfortable, but it feels right. Lynn probably disagrees.

I will miss the familiarity of all the little nooks and crannies of the different neighborhoods and all the beautiful streets that are not on the tourist lists. When you live in the city, you begin to experience the uniqueness of each neighborhood. I will miss the change of seasons; I'm not sure there is a better place to be in spring and fall.

I've learned a lot about myself. New York City is where the whole world intersects on a single island, and there is such beauty in that. It is a large, global city but also very small and intimate.

I've learned to be bold. I've learned to never assume anything but to embrace the humanity of everything. I've learned that your first reaction should always consider perspective and experience, be open-minded, and be prepared for the worst at any moment. I've learned it's important to age well by staying active and fighting convenience. I've learned that people care but also that no one cares. I've learned we make our own worlds really small, and it's essential to always remember that billions of people are not really concerned about things we think are important. This has been freeing.

I've learned that while everything matters, nothing matters. I've learned to be more direct; why waste everyone's time not just saying what you mean? But there is a fine line to this, and you must navigate it well. I've learned not to be overly concerned about how you are perceived. Just be kind, and it is what it is; people have to work through their own crap. I've learned that most people are in a hurry, which is fine, but to stop and take in moments, even during the hurry. I've learned that "things" do not matter a whole lot. In fact, there is not enough storage, and you usually don't need them anyway. I've learned life moves fast, really fast. Slow down and be intentional. I've learned to broaden my interests; there is much more to this world than what we might be introduced to early in our lives or what we do for a job. I've learned that "wanderlust" is an excellent word to describe me. I used to fight this, but now I've learned to embrace it. After 15 moves, you are who you are. New York was good for this.

I am proud of Lynn and the kids. My kids have spent most of their elementary school years here. I am amazed at their resilience and bravery. They made friends and embraced the lifestyle of the city. At this point, they may not know anything different. My wife carries a confidence that I've seen grow over the last 5 years. She deals with people in a way that amazes me. I'll hitch my wagon to her anytime. She still carries the best part of southern hospitality but has mixed it really well with the directness and confidence of a New Yorker. She's perfect.

Having family living just a few blocks away has been a true joy. We have experienced a similar existence as the TV show "Friends," which was fun. I will miss the wine nights, holidays, and watching their family grow.

Most of all, I will miss everyday life, the little moments that seem insignificant but are actually important. I tell everyone that living here is better than visiting, and all the little everyday moments over the last five years have proven this to be true.

The first thing I learned is the exhaustion of never being on "autopilot." It took me almost a year to not be exhausted every day because you always have to be alert and "on." I am thankful that my wife, kids, and dog were never hit by a car. Who am I kidding? I had a few close calls, but I am grateful I was never hit. I publicly apologize to the many bikers, as Lynn caused some issues on those paths.

TO SOME OF THESE MOMENTS, CHEERS, CHEERS TO.....

• Introducing anxiety and a fear of fires into my life, living 64 floors in the air while seeing a 4-alarm fire a few blocks away during our first 2 weeks in the city. 

• Moving TVs on a grocery cart from one apartment building to another. It is normal to do this. 

• The yearly grind of moving and finding another apartment offering incentives, all the while trying to figure out how to qualify for the lease. 

• The struggle of walking home from the grocery store, only buying what you know you can realistically carry. Then again, you learn to push the boundaries of what is realistic and live to regret the arrogance. 

• Playing tour guide regularly for visiting friends and family, and strangers on the street, and knowing what to say. 

• The rats were the size of cats. While never in our apartment, I'll never forget what sounded like an explosion when one got run over on Park Row. It's a moment none of us will ever forget. It felt like we watched it all happen in slow motion. I'm not a fan of the rats.

• All the building staff. I'm an introvert and like my alone time, but daily interactions with building staff are a constant hedge against loneliness, and they were nothing but kind to us. We even pretended to be committed Yankee fans for two years to keep the conversation going with one of them. 

• The daily walks to and from school, except those days when it rained, those days sucked. Always leave the apartment prepared. Lesson learned the first week in the city.

• I enjoy the evening walks home after soccer practice with my daughter, in awe that this is our life. I also enjoy the joy of helping coach those teams. 

• The soccer games underneath the Freedom Tower and those in Chinatown—there is no setting like them. 

• The kids playing king of the hill in Union Square.

• Graham, shaving his head, had to; everything was shut down. 

• The kids playing chase in the courtyard after school. 

• The night I walked the Brooklyn Bridge, entirely alone in a snowstorm (or what they called a bomb cyclone), with pictures to prove it. 

• The bike ride with my brother up the entire east side of the island and over to Brooklyn. 

• The many bike rides up the Hudson River Greenway with my wife for drinks at the Blind Tiger, breakfast at the Grey Dog, and strolls around Greenwich Village. These bike-riding memories are too many to count and might be my ultimate favorites. 

• The Bolognese at Inatteso. 

• The many afternoons of rooftop grilling ending with watching sunsets over the Hudson.

• Our first 900-square-foot apartment was smaller than the basement living room of the house we left, but we were happy nonetheless because it didn't matter; we were just excited to be there. 

• Our Spruce neighbor who sparked an interest of art in us and taught us that you can be in your 80s with cancer, still be active, and keep living. 

• Cooking classes, ju jit su, and art school.

• Seeing Hamilton, The Rockettes, and Dear Evan Hansen on Broadway.

• Those morning and evening walks in Battery City Park, especially the evening ones, not sure you will find a better sunset. 

• "Chasing squirrels" with the dog; the lust was real.

• Not owning a car for 5 years, it can be done. 

• The daily reminders of 9/11. 

• Trick or treating in the Upper West Side, I was Lebron James. 

• The many afternoons spent in Dumbo.

• Watching Bad Boys in Bryant Park, we are terrible parents. 

• The weekly lunches at Ainsworth with a dear friend. 

• A shortened tradition of dinner on the 26th of December with friends, constantly reflecting on the year and having fun. 

• Treating the sidewalks like they are interstates. I get it now. 

• The frequent trips to Land Thai. 

• wings in Harlem

• reading on warm afternoons in Bryant Park

• Fourth of July fireworks. I'll never forget experiencing them in 64T.

• The pizza and the ungodly amount we consumed. I still can't narrow down to one favorite, Adriennes.

• Central Park, my favorite place on Earth.

• Taking in the day or playing "Would you rather" in our spot, on the swings in Central Park, one time even during a blizzard. 

• Ice skating in the winter with friends.

• biking to and around the park

• The sounds of the saxophone in the Central Park mall, in the same spot, by the same man. 

• The snowball fights, snowmen built, sledding down Pilgrim and Cedar Hill, and the countless walks. 

• The afternoon picnics, throwing the frisbee, and drinking wine.

• The brutal uphill section on the bike path is in the northernmost part of the park. 

• The 26-mile scooter journey I lived through. Still cannot believe I did that.

• The days biking up 3rd Avenue from downtown, weaving through traffic to enter the park from the east side, but really, for the adrenaline rush of dodging traffic. Looking back, it's probably not wise. 

• The walking lifestyle, the biking, the energy, people, and the autonomy. 

• The friendships, the culture, and diversity like no other. 

• The genuine kindness of New Yorkers; it does exist. 

• The many, many, many other memories made, too many to list. 

To COVID. 

You changed everything. We lived in the epicenter of a global pandemic. Early on, we stayed in our apartment for almost an entire month. It may sound stupid now, but nobody really knew what to do in those early days. I do not believe all pandemic experiences were the same. 

Yet, we still found moments of life. We opened the apartment windows at 7pm to hear the cheers from the healthcare workers. We bought a dog. I wandered around the city when it was almost entirely empty, alone. It was both peaceful and frightening all at the same time. There are mental images of New York that I still can't believe I witnessed, and pictures I have to prove it. You made life hard; I began desiring a simpler life with my own space again. The simple things in life got really, really difficult. The restrictions were significant. A lot of the people we knew left. Most of our kids' friends left the school. Things changed. This wasn't about restlessness; this was becoming about stability. That may be what we need right now. Time will tell. 

The memories are endless. We did it. We were left with more money than we came with, with our health, a lifetime of memories, a wonderful marriage that grew even stronger, and wonderful kids.

What an experience! We lived a dream, and it was everything I hoped it would be and more. It is hard to put into words all we've gained over the last five years, but I just did my best, too. New York, you will be missed. 

People move all the time, and some move many times. As a family, we have as well. But this one felt more significant. This season has shaped a lot of my perspective on life and the lives of my family. We are different now than we were ten years ago. The "COVID years" were not easy. It has impacted us in various ways, some more so than others. Either way, it's changed many of us and how we view life.

Over a year later, here in Colorado, I've been able to move past the emotional aspects of this move most days and embrace the new season with thankfulness. It was still the best decision.

I will close with this: my wife recently returned from a short work trip and told me about a conversation she had with a friend. She was asked about Colorado and if we felt this was "our forever home." I immediately had a flashback to the baseball field in Louisiana. Her answer was the same thing I would have said, "Absolutely not," not because we do not like it, but because I don't know if we ever want to live with the idea of something "being forever." It's not in us. It feels restrictive. I always want to live with the hope of something new. Because new is good. Change is good. That means you are alive. And this is where my internal and external worlds collide.