Do you ever wish you lived somewhere else? Anywhere other than Omaha, NE (or, insert your city’s name here)? When I was little, my sister and I used to say we wanted to still live in the states, just in different states. She wanted to live in Montana, and I wanted to live in Louisiana. Until I found out about scorpions and being force fed crawdads, and then I quickly changed my mind.
Now, where I would really love to live is New York City. Every time I watch “You’ve Got Mail” or an episode of “Sex and the City,” I sigh in desire of the bustling city. I would love to never have to drive again. I would love to just walk for forty blocks when I needed to clear my head. I would love to jog in Central Park. I would love to have an option of hot food at 3 a.m. from somewhere other than the McDonald’s on 84th Street. I would love to see all four seasons again.
I would walk down fifth avenue and lust after clothes and accessories that are much too expensive for me. I would buy scarves, gloves, and maybe even a hat or two and stroll around at Christmas time, not to buy anything, but just to watch every body else shopping for presents. Later that evening, I would order everyone’s presents online and have them conveniently delivered through Amazon. I would watch the ice skaters at Central Park and consider joining them, but probably never would.
On Thanksgiving day, I would watch the Macy’s parade. I would go see the giant Christmas tree at Rockefeller center. On New Year’s eve, I would cram next to other sweaty bodies blocks away from Times Square, wishing I was closer to the action and farther away from this couple sloppily grabbing each other and occasionally me on accident.
I would get a little apartment in Greenwich village, if possible. It wouldn’t be possible, so if I ever did move to New York, I would end up in Hell’s Kitchen hoping that “Sleepers” was just a fictional movie and praying, pleading every day that my kids would grow up differently. I would people watch for hours, make up stories about them, and maybe even write those stories down and hope for them to one day be published.
Hoping…aren’t we always wishing and hoping for something -anything- else?
I’m leaving you with some dreamy pictures of New York City. Even if I never do get to move there, I will hope that my husband will at least take me to visit one cold winter’s day.