Upon Returning From New York
Or, if I could just merge the best parts of Austin and Brooklyn into one beautiful place
I flew back from New York yesterday afternoon, from visiting my sister in Brooklyn. On the train to the airport and on the plane, I was antsy to get back home. I missed Jason and the kids. I missed our cats and my plants. As we drove home from the airport, down 360, past Bull Creek and the limestone cliffs, I marveled at the space.
Five days in the city had accustomed my eyes to an intense density of buildings, sidewalks, people, dogs.
When I walked in the door, I hugged my oldest, checked on my plants, and loved on the cats. As I settled into the couch to rest before the youngest kids’ soccer game, I felt…awkward. Transitioning back to my actual life felt like putting on a pair of favorite jeans fresh out of the dryer — still favorite, but a little too tight at first.
Part of that is the natural transition from vacation to “real life.” I’d just spent five days with my mom, my sister, and her partner — some of my favorite people — walking around the city, visiting book stores and coffee shops, eating fabulous food, and having wine and interesting conversation every night. And doing so in an environment in which my to-do list wasn’t staring me in the face.
It felt very free.
And yet there were instances — like one morning when I woke up first, made coffee, and sat in the kitchen with a pile of unread books and my thoughts — I could sense something absent. My kiddos, my spouse, our particular cats, and greenery. At home, I spend time in the backyard every morning. I meditate, write, or just sit there with my coffee and let my mind wander. The quiet and the green is good for my soul. The birdsong, the lizards, the flowering plants just outside my back door fill my cup. That is not something so accessible in Brooklyn.
There are facets of New York I adore.
I love that, from my sister’s apartment, we can walk to the grocery store, half-a-dozen coffee shops and independent book stores, and probably hundreds of restaurants with a dizzying variety of food. If that’s not enough, the subway will take us further afield.
I love the diversity of people we pass on the streets — of all nationalities, shapes, sizes, ages, and gender expression. And the quality of a Broadway show has ruined me for theater in my hometown. There is a lovely park less than a quarter mile from my sister’s apartment — an expansive green place full of hills, steps, and gorgeous flowering shade trees. People jog, do group yoga, have photo sessions, and walk dogs. Every day before 9am and after 9pm is off-leash time in the park, which is a fun way to visit with dogs of every ilk.
Speaking of dogs…
I don’t love dodging wet dollops and streaks of dog shit in the middle of the sidewalk. You gotta keep one eye on the ground if you want to keep your boots clean in that particular neighborhood.
I come back here and I feel like I can breathe more easily.
It’s quieter, there is more space, and there is more nature that I don’t have to get dressed and cross under a bustling highway to access. And…
There is less diversity here (even less so in my suburban neighborhood than closer to downtown Austin). There are a lot of white people and not a lot of gay or trans people here. Or maybe I should say you don’t SEE a lot of gay or trans people. It is a harder place to be out than in NYC.
We drive everywhere. The distance between things means I get my greenery but it also means I drive to the grocery store, the coffee shop, and soccer practice. I definitely drive to the independent book store, as the closest one is 35 minutes away by car.
There’s a profound element of classism.
Shit, I thought this was going to be about difficulty reintegrating into my regular life, maybe a bit about the pros and cons of Austin versus Brooklyn, and I have ended up in politics again. Politics, economics, inequality of opportunity, define where we can live. In Austin, I can afford to live in a single-family dwelling with a good-sized yard. I don’t have to live in an apartment off the highway if I don’t want to. But the serenity of lakeside property is inaccessible to me. In Brooklyn, the brownstones — those that have not been divided into rental apartments and have space for small gardens and stand sentry on the quieter, shadier streets — are accessible to very few. Money aside…
A place has a feel, borne on its diversity or lack thereof, of acceptance or judgment.
Here’s the reason, the personal one, I think this has drifted so naturally back to the political: Despite the fact that I am a straight, cis-het, white woman, despite my being an inarguable a part of the dominant culture, there is a particular comfort I feel in a city blanketed with a varied tapestry of cultures, ideas, and kinds of people. My inner child exhales there.
Maybe it’s because I have always felt a little weird, even if not in my outward appearance, and if there is one place it feels okay to be weird, it’s New York. And so a part of me relaxes, feeling like whoever I am is acceptable there. And I enjoy diversity. My life is enriched by spending time amongst such a variety of people. My mind is expanded.
Back to that sensation of too-tight jeans.
I am the same person at home as I am at my sister’s, but I fit differently. I interact with my mom, sister, and her partner differently than I do in the context of my kids and spouse. It was slightly jarring to go from one role in the morning, to the other in the afternoon, in the same way it felt sudden to move from the bustle of Brooklyn to the wide-open spaces of the edge of the Hill Country, the tossed-salad mixture of people to the more uniform wedge salad version.
Being “the mom” comes with a different set of emotional clothing than being just one of four adults.
My mom and sister are family, but at this point in our lives, when I have been an adult daughter and sister much longer than I was the child version of these roles, we interact on even footing — no one listening or talking a whole lot more than the others, no one responsible for the others. I’m not raising any of them. I don’t worry about being a good example, about asking the right or wrong questions, about being too pushy in my parenting or too loose. I feel free to say, “This is what I feel like doing” and know we will all give and take equally until we align.
Just now, though, as my youngest got ready for school, and I was once again, after five days, here in our space with him, I thought perhaps it’s not just me. He remembered to take his morning meds every day the whole time I was gone. When I’m here, though I put them in a little cup by his breakfast, he often forgets. He said it was easier to remember without me there as a distraction. He didn’t say he liked it better when I was gone; I don’t think he thinks that. But it made me wonder if the transition of my suddenly being home again isn’t jarring for them as well. You have to adjust to a new person in your space, even if you’re glad they’re home.
Lately, as the kids move closer and closer to whatever will be their adult world, I’ve made a conscious effort to step back and let them take more responsibility for their lives, while staying present for support, conversation, or just being together. But maybe I am still being too much, at least for the youngest. This is hard.
This is what I’m left with, swimming around in my brain, after a five-day vacation in Brooklyn.
It was relaxing and fun, and unlike some vacations, I got plenty of sleep. And now I wonder…
Could I live some place with more diverse, funky, various, accepting people and culture?
Can I have that AND accessibility to nature?
Do I over-parent my kids? Am I maybe too much sometimes?
What kind of space do I take up in a room full of people? In the context of adults in New York, in the homespace of my nuclear family? How do I affect other people?
These thoughts roil around in my head, and on the surface, seem disparate, but they are linked by a singular, basic emotion. Fear — of being too much or not enough or not the right kind of thing that the world values.
These are not feelings that typically plague me; these days, I’m pretty content and self-assured in my way of being. I think it’s healthy, though, to recognize that fissures of self-doubt and fear can still show up from time to time. I’ve noticed if I let fear take up some space in my head and accept it, it doesn’t grow large. Instead, it will fade into the depths again, leaving a bolstered confidence in its wake.
Perhaps, in taking time out of my daily responsibilities and experiencing an entirely different setting than I’m used to, I was able to see myself from a greater distance, more clearly, upon my return.
I absolutely loved reading this!