I now have a natural repulsion to the place I’ve lived for all but 8 years of my life – New York. I remember the almost romantic feeling I used to have when returning to NYC from my travels, my sigh of relief at returning home as I easily communicated with the customs agents or saw the cityscapes whizzing by in the back of a yellow cab. Home. It was big, anonymous, always whirling. Yes, it was home.

When people would tell me they didn’t like the city much, I thought they were probably not particularly interesting (I used to be kind of judgmental…don’t judge). When my old boss Eric said he had to get out of the city at least every other week, I nodded but didn’t understand. I mean, what was the big deal? When my friends’ parents were always going to their country houses, I thought it was mainly for show and wondered how they could deal with such logistical hassles on a weekly basis instead of just walking around the corner for a bagel with cream cheese and calling it a day.

The only thing that resonated with me, though I didn’t understand it at the time, was when my friend Lily, born and bred in NYC, moved to LA. Her rationale: “I realized that life didn’t need to be so hard.” Intriguing.

There were years I spent barely being extracted from this place I called home. I might go to Christmas at by ex-partner/common law married person (he was more than a boyfriend) Ben’s family’s place or drop in for my token 24-hour visit to see my family. I would promise others that I would visit them at UPenn in Philadelphia during our undergraduate days, and yet I think the first time I saw Philadelphia was probably when I was 30…

After years of traveling weekly and a year away, I get it. The New York of this period of life and in general is not the raw New York I used to know. It is the age of being constantly connected, stress stress and more stress, self-orientation, noise, trash, competitiveness, and a sense that everyone – no matter the level of means – is struggling. This bubble of discontent. I suppose it is one extreme pole of the human condition.

So I took a big breath and stepped into Penn Station for my surgical entree and exit.

Yes, it was cold emotionally. I spent the first night in a nice apartment that had turned into some kind of shoe factory filled with 4 interns and a door that wasn’t allowed to be locked. These shoes were meant to be for a good cause, but wow, this owner chick had no soul and was trying to charge us $200/night and told us we needed to replace any paper towels and toilet paper we used. Scary. I ate all her food (probably expired from the looks of her skinny frame) in revenge. It’s probably a self-defeating strategy to eat to strike revenge on people. Then again, I think I just eat everyone’s home snacks regardless of whether it’s a revenge scenario or not.

I ate a lot of dessert (f the fact that I can’t upload any photos right now), saw a Lamb Chop show at the Bowery Ballroom, and hung out with one of my closest friends Susanne, who had flown in from Cologne, Germany. I selectively saw a few friends…tried to keep that contained to a few people. It’s too much to see everyone. It’s NYC so I also practiced some bank account drainage. Oh right, and then there was day 1 of my grad school reunion.

I pitched 2 companies on consulting work – one was kind of tinged with subterfuge and the other seemed promising.

When I landed back in LA, I felt that familiar feeling, the way I used to feel when I landed back in NYC. Home. Even though it took 2.5 hours in Uber pool to get back.