A helluva town

Oh New York, how you toy with my emotions.

Yesterday morning, as I hiked two miles up 3rd Ave through 99 degree weather with someone else’s barf on my limbs, I was ready to write you off as broken and inefficient. Yet last night, in the heat of a midsummer Central Park sunset, my sweat and pride mingled with that of thousands of other concert-goers. Our voices swam together through the humidity with a band that, to me, represents New York: the Beastie Boys, in their “Open letter to NY”:

“Brooklyn, Bronx, Queens and Staten
From the Battery to the top of Manhattan
Asian, Middle-Eastern and Latin
Black, White, New York you make it happen

Brownstones, water towers, trees, skyscrapers
Writers, prize fighters and Wall Street traders
We come together on the subway cars
Diversity unified, whoever you are.

I see you're still strong after all that's gone on
Life long we dedicate this song
Just a little something to show some respect
To the city that blends and mends and tests”

And at that moment I wondered how I could ever go back to California. Because that’s the point of New York: it tests. Living here is a constant challenge, a never-ending battle. It’s too hot. It’s too cold. It’s too crowded. It’s too expensive and too fast. But that’s what brings everyone together. That’s what makes it so cool.

And I love it.