A Date In A Life ~ A little birthday dirge

Joseph Sotack was my neighbor when I lived in a 6 floor walk-up on Rivington Street, on Manhattan's Lower East Side.  Joe died on my birthday in the year 1991.
________________, was a nurse who worked at the preschool where I was employed when I became pregnant with J.T.  She became my friend.
She died on my birthday in 1998, the year J.T. was born.

The back of the remembrance card Joe's wife gave me after his funeral, read: "Blessed are they that mourn, for they shall be comforted."  Today is my birthday.

The nurse ended her life by jumping off the rooftop of her father's high rise building in Midtown Manhattan.  She was born in Brazil.  I used to know her name.

Happy Anniversary to the Big Apple of my eye.

When I was younger, I often daydreamed of moving to a farm in some remote area of the country, where I could work the land in solitude and eventually learn how to achieve total self sufficiency. In my daydreams, I would till the fields of corn and tend the cattle, weave sweaters in winter from the wool with which my sheep would willingly reward my loving care. But when time came to spread my wings, instead of settling in Vermont, I headed for Manhattan. Here, I intended to spend a year of study, research and observation and then move on. It's been thirty years since the day I stepped off a taxi in midtown, and in NYC I still remain. No one who knew me prior to those years could have predicted it. I was the down to earth, quiet girl who swooned over the countryside, the hiker, the camper, the mountain lover. But who would have known that trading in the sweltering heat of a south Florida afternoon, for the warmth of a rush hour subway train car full of fellow commuters, would be in the end, not much of a difficult choice at all? Rather, it was more like one of those "Aha!" moments that make you wonder how you could have missed the obviousness of it all, until now...Aha!  

In those years, I thought that I wanted to bond with nature, but in reality all I really wanted was to bond. My relationships nurtured the growth of my spirit and helped to form me in the vital ways that would forge my identity as an adult. It was the people I met here and the love of the things we shared and that connected us, that led me to choose NYC as my home. This is how I grew to accept my need for community. But time and time again, I ask myself what it is that cements our relationships with others. Back then, it was  our love of art, our creative collaborations, our efforts to live as newly transplanted new yorkers in a city that welcomed all, but accepted only the most obstinate. As time passed, that struggle began to include the need to synthesize creative work and family. But in spite of the difficulties of living in the city, most did not choose to leave for greener pastures--or even for better schools. 

Maybe the sharing of ideals among neighbors and friends is of more significance than we are readily willing to consciously admit. Maybe the emotional comfort we gain from the sharing of this complex community cannot be replaced by that of herding docile quadrupeds on a farm. This does not make new yorkers different, it makes us similar to every other group that ever formed and lived on this Earth. The comfort we gain from surrounding ourselves with like minded people is not unlike the feeling that there is safety in numbers. It is a basic tribal instinct. At a recent garden book club gathering, as the group ardently discussed Walden, one member-- a mother of adult children, commented that those who choose to live in cities choose Human Nature over Nature. A profound silence of recognition filled the room.  But transplanted new yorkers; we ARE different. We are a tribe woven from the threads of many tribes. We are creative, passionate re-inventors of our lives who choose to raise our children in one of the most inspired, fast paced, challenging and diverse places on the planet. Never mind the cost. Why do we do this thing?...I find the answer magically mysterious,  perhaps a bit corny, but nonetheless genuine and ultimately quite simple. It's because we love. We come to NY and we fall in love and for love we stay.
Yes, it's true. I  NY
I love the grit, the melange of foreign tongues that I can't comprehend, the noise, the attitude, the art, the music, the architecture, the eccentricity, the elegance, the irreverence. I love the accents and rainbow of ethnicities, the Romani women who tell your fortune--irregardless of whether you want to hear it-- as you turn the corner around Mama's Deli. I love the options of choices upon choices and the contradictions. I love the textures of random human contacts. More succinctly, I love the passion in which this city is doused. 

So, here's a small celebratory tribute to my favorite city in the world, in pictures as well as words. And to my Big Apple tribe, happy 30th anniversary!