Amy Middleton Loves New York

I’ve recently been entertaining a New York idea I’d never given thought to before: that of leaving it.

My heart became the property of this city when I moved here nearly five years ago, or maybe it always was and I just didn’t realize it until I moved in. “New York just called me,” I explain to people who ask why I moved here but don’t actually want to know. And the reason I am still here is that nothing else has called.

I have insisted that when I leave NYC, I’d like for it to be on a bad note, so that I’ll have tainted memories to cloak the perfect ones. In the absence of something bad actually happening, I think I’m getting there. To borrow the brilliant Rupert Holmes lyric, it’s becoming a worn-out recording of my favorite song. It’s the same conversation with different people, the same concerts and recitals with different performers, the same over-programmed schedule with different e-vites. New faces move in, move on, and move out. I feel like I’m repeating a year of high school. Over and over and over again.

Last night I decided to make a list of things I love about the city, and things I’m ready to be done with. I realized that each column contained essentially the same list.