this is to all the haters out there

I have recently notice an anti-New York City trend, not just among tourists, but among New Yorkers themselves (see Onion article, see all whiny commuters). The typical complaint usually goes something like this: New York is crowded, dirty, expensive, overrated, and generally just too hard. Their solution is usually to leave, or to talk incessently about leaving. Do not get me wrong, there are many beautiful and worthy cities out there (San Francisco, Boston), and there are plenty of reasons to move to said cities. I would love to be closer to my own family. That said, I feel that in the face of all this negativity I need to utter some rare words: I never want to leave New York City.

Yes, New York is hard. Life is hard, people. Michelangelo didn't say, "you know Julius, the ceiling seems like a great idea, but why don't we go ahead and just do the walls?" I will admit that while in New York you may see the bare ass of a homeless person in the middle of the day on a public street. You may see chicken bones on the ground, and you may smell something ungodly burning. You may also see a slow-moving cockroach zigzagging down the sidewalk with a camera around his neck, stopping at every goddamn corner to take a picture. You may later see thousands of his friends boil up from a sewer grate in a way that makes you think you should run for high ground. This is all totally normal.

But there is also Bach's solo cello suites in the subway; delicious Ethiopian food; watching Cary Grant try to salvage Ingrid Bergman's modesty in Notorious on the big screen; the mo' stormy at The Farm; the Highline (finally the city realized it needed to preserve its strange and wonderful archiectural oddities); the Met (one of the best museums in the world and it's free); getting a reserve book brought out of the stacks at the main branch of the New York Public Library, completely entertaining street fashion, 5 Pointz and the Broken Angel house. And that is just the obvious stuff. There is a whole secret New York, perfect hidden jewels that can be mined by taking circuitous routes home and lingering in doorways and talking to strangers.

This weekend I went to Central Park with my friend (self-dubbed the Derelict House Guest), and I was reminded of just how much I love New York. It is an inspiring place, not only because of all the amazing things to do and see, but because of all the people--the artists, the madmen, the writers, the thinkers, the magicians, the furries, the losers, the cruisers--who choose to live here. There is adventure here and courage, not only because it is hard (and yes it is frogging hard) but because it is full of seekers, people looking to be part of, and contribute to, something bigger than themselves. This population exists everywhere, but is particularly vibrant in New York. My dear Derelict House Guest has helped remind me of this. Here is her completely inspiring foot.

I was struck by the texture of the stone and her leather shoe. She is the stone, we are all the stone and the park and 72nd street, and the plastic roses on the horse bridles, and The Dakota, and the moon. Henry James knew. John Lennon knew. David Byrne knows. New York is not a lonely place.