Finding My Place: Thoughts on Leaving (and Maybe Returning to) New York
Is the city my soulmate, or a toxic ex?
After six-plus years of living in New York, I left a year and a half ago. I still loved the city, but felt like I wasn’t in love with it any more. I know that’s cliche, but it’s true.
I came to New York at 21 with dreams of making a name for myself in the media industry as a writer. I spent my first few years in the post-college party scene of Murray Hill, before heading downtown to a (slightly) calmer life in the West Village. I had worked my way up the masthead at a few publications. I loved my work, had good friends, and was (fairly) happily single and dating.
But something was missing. That spark was gone. I just didn’t feel the same way about New York as I used to.
Like any long-term relationship, we had our problems. I was getting sick of the incessant sounds, the smells, the non-existent superintendent who never fixed my radiator.
I was disenchanted by how difficult it was to actually leave the city, with congested airports and busy train stations and no car.
I missed my parents, who live in Florida, and are (like all parents) getting older.
I missed nature, and Central Park wasn’t really cutting it anymore.
The thought of buying groceries and carrying them back to my walk-up apartment made me tired. The thought of getting on the subway made me tired. The thought of gearing up for another seemingly endless winter made me tired. Everything had been making me tired, actually.
As passed the five-year mark, many of my best friends decided to make the move elsewhere, to easier, calmer lives in Dallas, Denver, and California. At that point, I hadn’t even considered leaving New York any time soon. But as they began to head out, one by one, the realization that I could leave — that I could start a new life somewhere else, too — dawned on me.
As my 28th birthday approached, I started to think seriously about moving. Maybe it’s time to go back to my roots in the South, I figured. Maybe that’s more “me.” Maybe I too should get out of this fast-paced, expensive life and see what it’s like to move a little more slowly for once.
Toward the end of a relationship, I feel like there’s always a final burst of happiness — a shared laugh, a fun dinner, a familiar, comforting feeling when you’re around that person. It’s the little things that that you can’t imagine abandoning. It’s a final glimpse into the potential of the relationship — a look at how good it could be, if only you could hang on a little longer.
New York and I experienced this toward the end. I kept coming across reminders of the glittery city I’d fallen so hard for years before. I had interviews for amazing jobs at cool companies. I walked to my office in Soho on balmy September mornings, listening to podcasts and watching the city slowly come to life. I strolled home through the West Village as the golden afternoon sun lit up the orange bricks of brownstones. I spotted a famous author one morning in my local coffeeshop and introduced myself. I had brunch next to a celebrity. I looked out at the sparkling city one night from a rooftop and thought to myself, I can never leave this place. This is home.
Then a job offer in Atlanta materialized, while the job offers in New York didn’t. The job sounded too good to be true. I decided, or at least told myself, that I was ready for a change.
So it was over with New York. When I made up my mind, I tried not to look back.
But ending a relationship, especially one that had defined a big chunk of your life, is never easy. I should’ve known. I don’t exactly have a great track record with breakups.
Whether a relationship lasted a year or a few months, it’s hard for me to put it in the rearview mirror and not look back. Instead, I like to have long conversations with friends, my (very patient) mother, and even myself about it, trying to pinpoint exactly where things went wrong, how I could’ve done better, and finally settle on why it was never meant to be.
One year and a half later, I’m still stuck on New York. I’m still sifting through the pieces of our relationship, the fading memories, trying to answer the questions in my mind. Where did we go wrong? What role did I play in our downfall? What was my fault, and what was New York’s? Could we be happy together again?
It probably doesn’t help that my relationship with Atlanta got off to a rocky start. In my second day at my new job, my boss told me that the position they’d described in the months-long interview process had essentially been eliminated, thanks to a new CEO. I was left stunned, sitting at my desk in a nondescript office building in the middle of a new city I knew nothing about. I quit after six miserable months, and became self-employed as a freelance writer and content consultant.
While I loved being able to work for myself (and take workout classes at any time of day!), freelance life wasn’t all it’s cracked to be. It was lonely. I had to pay for my own health insurance. I wasn’t creatively stimulated. (I wrote about what I learned after going freelance here.) I’ve continued to look for jobs, and I joined a company part-time, but no opportunity has come close to my dream job of being a writer and media personality.
I also thought moving out of the city would help me get healthier, but I actually felt worse after moving. A lot of the stress had been built up in NYC, but the stress of the new job situation and simply trying to create a new life became even more overwhelming. That stress, combined with Southern food, going out and drinking in an effort to make new friends (it worked, but the hangovers weren’t worth it), and much less walking, led to more than a few extra pounds and a never-ending feeling of fatigue.
My personal life also went through some ups and downs. I’ve met some great people, but I’ve also met some people who I trusted, who ended up letting me down, hard. In some ways, I’ve still felt like an outsider. I’ve felt like maybe I’m not a Southerner at heart, even though I spent the first 21 years of my life here. (In New York, you can’t be an “outsider.” Everyone is!)
And guess what? I haven’t spent a lot of time in nature.
Let me be clear: Atlanta hasn’t been all bad. I’ve seen my parents more often, which is probably the biggest benefit to living here. (I only wish they lived in Atlanta, which probably would’ve made the entire transition much easier.)
I’ve traveled a ton. I’ve built up my freelance writing career, became a health coach at Emory, and got experience in content marketing at a startup. I’ve made some great friends. I’ve realized Atlanta does have a lot to offer, and it’s grown considerably in the brief time I’ve lived here. It’s a great place to live, overall — but maybe it’s not for me.
The problem is, I still think about New York all the time. And I’m realizing that in my current status — 29, single, and career-oriented — New York simply has more to offer me than Atlanta. Sure, Atlanta has adorable starter homes and lots of green space for families.
But it doesn’t have the work events and interesting talks and panels that New York had, every night of the week. The ever-expanding wellness scene. The art exhibits. I miss hearing passion in people’s voices when they talk about their jobs. I miss random deep conversations with strangers in bars. Most of all, I miss feeling that you’re truly in the center of it all — that you can literally have access to anything you want, if you just put in the effort.
You’re probably thinking it, and I am too. I have to catch myself and wonder, Am I just remembering the good stuff?
Am I just replaying the highlight reel of my life in New York, the picture-perfect moments? That’s so easy to do these days, after all. I scroll through photos from my time in New York, and it feels like they’re out of a movie scene — not real life. Morning runs along the Highline?! Sunset drinks on friends’ rooftops?! Underground concerts in old warehouses?! Of course, I didn’t take pictures of the time my radiator broke during the coldest week of winter, of the time I got stuck on the subway on the way to JFK, of the lonely nights I stayed in, of the heartbreaks.
In someways, I know I’m just looking back with rose-colored glasses. (I tend to do that with relationships too.)
But I can’t help thinking that I pulled the plug too soon, letting the life I’d worked so hard to establish go down the drain.
Now I’m starting to look for jobs that would bring me back, and I recently went back for four days for interviews and to see some friends. I walked through my former West Village haunts and explored parts of Brooklyn I’d never been through before with friends who now live across the East River.
Over the weekend, I didn’t really feel like I was in the “my” NYC — the one I knew. And I guess that’s a good thing. You can’t go back to the way things were, either in life or in love.
I’m just wondering if too much time has passed. Is it worth trying to rekindle that old relationship? Should I give more time to Atlanta, or is it smarter to start a completely new chapter elsewhere—Austin, Denver, SF? There are so many questions that I’m still working on answering.
But one thing I do know is this: After this last move, I know all too well that making a big change won’t make everything ~perfect.~ Just like a relationship can’t guarantee happiness, a new city won’t make all your old issues disappear. Still, sometimes it’s just what you need to start a new page in your own love story.
I’d love to hear from you if you’ve ever faced a similar dilemma! Let me know @lockehugheswrites on Instagram or @lockevictoria on Twitter.
