Most of whatever I’ve told myself is the most difficult thing about a city or place is remedied either by just not telling myself that or by avoiding prime time activity now and again.
For the latter, Sundays are perfect.
Yesterday we took a late brunch at our regular spot in Williamsburg and found it far less crowded than usual.
Following, we met up with others in the Lower East Side of Manhattan at a friend-of-a-friend’s bistro during the empty lull between brunch and dinner.
I prefer am used to less crowds and a slower pace than New York’s.
New York is overwhelming tiny and a blink away from ocean and sprawling countryside.
I never thought I’d be am so glad to live here.
A comfort zone is a lot of real estate to lug around in life. Mine’s been shrinking. I don’t get that antsy “something’s missing” itch I’ve had in other cities, here.
Sure, there’s newness: It’s a fast-paced, densely-populated region. I’m cohabiting for the first time. The seasons change here. But these are no grand feats here on planet earth.
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