The wall of Sarah’s charming Brooklyn apartment is adorned with a captivating display of photographs—a rustic sepia-toned truck, a fox dressed in a suit, and a striking black and white image of a wheat sheaf. Each piece silently taunts me with the unspoken message: Look closely. This is the path you didn’t take.
During a recent work trip, I strolled through the quaint streets of her neighborhood alongside my high school friend and her companions. With great enthusiasm, she pointed out the unique features of the houses and shared stories of their shared adventures in local bars and eateries. They laughed as they reminisced about memorable nights out, recommending the best dishes and cocktails. It was difficult to hide my envy.
Fifteen years ago, in my early twenties, I dreamed of moving to New York without ever having set foot there—a city that beckoned to me like a moth to a flame. At the end of my college journey in 2000, still rooted in my Midwestern hometown, I confided in my then-boyfriend about applying for an internship at CBS in New York. We shared the same major, and he was supportive. He got the position. I didn’t. But I still ventured to New York that year to work, filled with a mix of excitement and nerves, as I navigated the city’s unforgiving streets in painful pumps.
New York was everything I had imagined and so much more. With each visit, I wandered the blocks, picturing myself in various neighborhoods, peering into apartments, and scanning job postings. However, I never allowed myself to truly consider making the leap. Fear held me back—fear of the unknown and the possibility of failure.
Falling for New York City felt akin to crushing on someone out of my league. The yearning was intense, and to shield myself from the heartache, I began to highlight the city’s negatives—too expensive, too crowded, too impersonal, too dangerous—convincing myself that it wasn’t what I really wanted. I told myself moving to New York was a foolish dream.
Just like that unattainable crush, I eventually moved on from the idea of New York. In the years that followed, I married, transitioned careers, had two children, purchased homes, ventured to different cities, established a writing career, and ultimately started anew after leaving an abusive relationship. Meanwhile, Sarah had embraced life in New York City since the moment I dismissed my dreams of living there. Over the past 15 years, she cultivated a successful career, formed a vibrant social circle, and traveled extensively, finding genuine happiness. Each night, she fell asleep nestled in the embrace of my once-beloved city. Listening to her recount her adventures, it was evident that New York had become her cherished partner, and my envy deepened.
During my two days with Sarah, I felt as though I had stepped into a modern-day version of It’s a Wonderful Life. I was confronted with an alternate reality, a life filled with opportunities I had forsaken out of fear. If only I hadn’t let insecurity dictate my choices, perhaps I too would be living in a beautifully decorated Brooklyn apartment, antiquing in Connecticut on weekends, and enjoying business trips to China. Maybe I wouldn’t be navigating the complexities of a divorce or managing the challenges of single parenthood.
As I wandered through Brooklyn after a delightful dinner with Sarah and her friends, I expressed my admiration for her life. She linked her arm with mine, and amidst our tipsy chatter, she revealed that she too felt something was missing. They spoke of the daunting task of meeting new people in a city as vast as New York, where connecting with a compatible partner often feels like searching for a rare fish in a sea of millions. I hadn’t realized until that moment that I’d spent the evening with three attractive, intelligent women in their late thirties who were all still single. In this city, it seems that New York serves as everyone’s lover, leaving little room for new romances.
The next day, while I strolled the city alone during a break from my conference, I pondered our lives—hers, mine, and the one I didn’t pursue. I walked aimlessly, choosing directions based solely on the “go” signals at intersections. After an hour of wandering and reflection, I came to no grand revelations or feelings of closure. Instead, I recognized that we each follow the path we’re courageous enough to take at any given moment. Perhaps it’s about embracing the direction that gives you a “go” signal.
Finding joy in the journey is what counts. If you can look back and say you did your best, and if you can look ahead with determination to try again tomorrow, then that’s what truly matters, regardless of where you live, your relationship status, or the framed photographs on your walls. Ultimately, it’s not the walls that define us but the people we welcome inside and the love that endures when everything else fades away.
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Summary:
In this reflective piece, the author revisits her dreams of moving to New York City, contrasting her life choices with those of a longtime friend who embraced the city. Through personal anecdotes and contemplative wandering, she explores themes of fear, longing, and the paths we choose, ultimately recognizing that fulfillment comes from embracing the journey and the connections we forge along the way.