New York, the Buddhist

London
“New York will always be here, and [will] never care,” a friend texted.

Another friend, in a separate conversation, intimated, “When you leave New York, the void left will instantly be filled by endless other New York incidentals — MTA delays, work frustrations, other friends . . .”

After silently recalling that quote about not needing enemies when you’ve got friends like these, I thought about the Buddhist lesson in non-attachment these guys were inadvertently imparting:  you’ll miss out on the promise of what is in front of you if you don’t learn to let go.  New York knows this all too well.  Things slide off New York like teflon. Fiery arguments provoked in the subway are shaken off a minute later with a shrug of the shoulders. Extraordinary dates kindled each night fade off under no-follow-throughs. Transformative conversations transpire and vanish between strangers who will never see each other again. New York is bu.sy.  It keeps moving. It doesn’t dwell, doesn’t cling. What is important, though, is when it is there, it is there.

As I took a bite (literally and figuratively) out of everything the city offered, New York was there with me. The romance between us was intense.  It educated me, then it partied with me until I had no more party left to give. It extricated preconceived biases out of me. It stoked my corporate ambition then drained me of all of it. It bombarded me with creative inspiration, and assaulted me with new aesthetic sensibilities. It beat organized religion out of me and crammed in place a solid home-spun spirituality. It wrung out of me love and hurt I never knew I had. It squeezed independence out of me, and pounded me with solid support. And it etched out for me the finest group of friends one can only dream of. New York put this very sheltered island-girl through its furnace and spat out something unrecognizable 15 years later. Then yesterday, as I was made to realize, it gave her a good-bye squeeze and turned right back around to dealing with its endless New York incidentals.  Youch.

So fine, New York.  It’s a deal. You go back to relishing the best blue skies on the planet, the bushy-tailed newcomers, and your majestic efficiency. I’ll concentrate on my current incidentals and feel the feels of this upcoming adventure. No jealousy.  And when I return, we can continue this insane love affair.

Meanwhile, feel free to drunk text once in a while. I really won’t mind.