I miss New York. I miss that every day is an adventure and that life is a cross between an odd treasure hunt and simultaneous evolution of the olfactory, visual, and auditory senses. Sometimes heavenly, sometimes objectionable, but always decisively different.
And around every corner is either the most unexpected and bizarre thing you ever saw or the most sedate urban facade eclipsed by a street corner dance battle or temporal art installation that somehow infers nothing and everything.
I miss East Village bookstores with tag lines like 18 miles of books. I miss the casual musicians playing on the subway platforms. And I miss the condensed arts and culture experiences that no other city I’ve been to replicates. There are approximately 1,400 art galleries in New York City.
I miss stumbling into those unexpected green spaces in the middle of the city that provide a perfect respite from the concrete jungle. I miss the winter sun casting long shadows, warming my hands with single-origin coffee, and imagining what I will create next.