City Mouse

Lately I’ve been getting that feeling that I’d like to leave the city a little too often for my liking. Part of it is the itch to travel, part of it is wanting to experience living somewhere else. A couple months ago I went to visit my sister in Oregon. I’ve been there several times before, but particularly on this trip I fell in love with the place. I thought, Man, I could really live here I think. The nature and the landscape, the people, and the general feeling there was so wonderful and I just wanted to stay. But I live in New York, and I do love New York. It’s a strange feeling.

I’ve always wanted to live by the ocean, right by the beach. That’s a dream I have. To hear the waves as I go to sleep, to be able to walk to the beach, feel the sand in my toes and watch the morning sea as I drink my coffee. To sit in a sweatshirt and feel the winter ocean breezes. To smell salt in the air all the time. Even to have grains of sand in my shower and on my floors and between my sheets.

I can’t drive. Well, I can, I have a license. But I really, really do not belong behind the wheel of any car. I don’t like it. I don’t want to live anywhere that would require me to put myself through that anxiety everyday. So, I need to be able to walk or take mass transit.

I love movies. I need to have movies around me and be able to go to all of them.

My work is here, the things I like to do are here, I have great friends here. . . but sometimes, I just want to live somewhere else. Somewhere quieter. Somewhere with more trees where I can go barefoot outside. Somewhere that smells good.

So you see my dilemma.

It makes me sad to think that I might want to be somewhere other than I am. There’s so much out there for me to experience – new places! New people! Who knows what I might love or hate? My life is my own right now and I want to see what’s out there. There’s a little voice inside me that says “Don’t settle down yet! Keep moving! You’ve been here too long!”

But then there are those weekend mornings, before everyone gets up. When the West Village is so so quiet you can’t believe it and the sky is grey and the buildings are dark. And those evenings when the light is just so that you can’t take a picture of it, with warmly lit windows just coming on and sparkle in the concrete, the orange and purple sunset. . .



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