Our New York Life

We made it. After a successful redeye Wednesday night—Lucia slept the whole way!—we arrived in NYC a bit overburdened and tired but happy and excited. We have not, however, yet found the New York life we’ve been waiting for. Andrew had arranged for a car to meet us at JFK; a driver with our name on a sign greeted us in baggage claim, and a huge black Escalade drove us into the city. (We had Lucia’s carseat with us.) A car and driver, an Escalade, our name on a sign—this certainly isn’t our New York life (but it was blessedly easy and convenient with our baby and our bags). Our destination: Trump Place, a huge luxury apartment building overlooking the Hudson on the Upper West Side, where the doormen greeted us as we dragged our stuff through the marble lobby to our temporary corporate housing. A doorman, a luxury building, a marble lobby—this isn’t our New York life either; it was arranged for us before we arrived. Our temporary quarters are perfectly comfortable, with four forks and four plates and a measuring cup, colander, Pyrex baking dish, sauce pot, and cutting board, and the view from our windows—all lit-up high-rises, a true city view—is lovely. But all this is just for now. It isn’t what we came for.

We’ve begun searching for apartments, exclusively in brownstone Brooklyn, and it’s when we’re wandering the streets of Park Slope and Brooklyn Heights and Cobble Hill and Prospect Heights do we feel it—here it is! This is it! This is the New York life we left behind, and the one we’re eager to resume. We haven’t found a place yet, but we’ve been here only four days, so I’m trying to be patient. I’m just so ready for it all to begin.