I Miss Walking Around New York

The joy of chasing (or walking towards) your dreams

I live in the biggest city in the world, but these days my life feels small. I operate within the same 30 block radius, walking from my apartment on the Upper East Side to my office in Midtown Manhattan and back. On weekends or days when I work from home, I typically only leave the house to go to the gym, the grocery store, or church. If I’m feeling adventurous, I’ll take my dog to the park. My routine resembles someone who lives in the middle of nowhere rather than the supposed hub of Western Civilization.

I wasn’t always like this. Just a short while ago, I was all over New York practically every night.

I spent twelve years trying to make it as a stand-up comedian in New York City. For over a decade, I’d be out at different comedy events and shows, sometimes in multiple boroughs, every single evening. It wouldn’t be abnormal for me to go to an open mic in Queens, a comedy club in Manhattan, and a bar show in Brooklyn within the span of six hours. All the while I’d be traversing different neighborhoods on foot, taking in the scenery and soaking up the energy. Those walks added depth and color to my comedy experiences and made them more memorable. The first time I did a paid gig at Caroline’s on Broadway, I walked all the way home to the Upper East Side, listening to Billy Joel as I strolled along Central Park South under a full moon. I don’t know if there actually was a full moon out that night, but in my memory I’ve never walked under a moon so bright in my entire life.

Aside from the art of comedy itself, I think that’s what I miss most about my previous career in stand-up. When I wasn’t on stage, I got to experience all of New York as both a participant and an observer. Say I had two shows that were three hours apart in start time and one mile apart in distance. Since I didn’t have anything better to do, I’d slowly walk from one to the other, meandering around the city on no clearly defined path. I just walked in the general direction of my destination. During these walks, I observed the people and the environment around me.

I saw young professionals out on dates at fancy restaurants, even younger college students enthusiastically piling into bars, schizo vagrants muttering to themselves on the corner, tourists skating in Rockefeller Plaza, random drum circles in Washington Square Park, uncovered windows in luxury apartment buildings providing insight into both the lifestyle and decor choices of the uber-rich. I got to sample everything that makes New York what it is without being directly involved in it. I was everywhere and nowhere, living all the corny Sex And The City cliches come to life.

Because I did this so many times over a long enough period, I also saw entire neighborhoods change before my eyes. I was there through the frozen yogurt boom and bust cycle, watching as East Village mom and pop shops became 16 Handles before eventually being converted into illegal dispensaries. I witnessed Long Island City go from an afterthought to a beer garden filled banker enclave. I watched as Williamsburg changed from the cool, gritty backdrop of Girls to an extremely fashionable and obscenely wealthy neighborhood that now has a Chanel store. There are no more hipsters on Bedford Avenue, just hypebeasts and scions of foreign nationals.

Not only did I walk around New York, but there was a four year period where I lived in Astoria and was lucky enough to have a car, so I got to experience New York behind the wheel as well. Two memories from that era stand out to me. One was from the summer of 2016. Frank Ocean’s Blonde had just come out, and I was driving towards the Midtown Tunnel from Brooklyn with a full view of the Manhattan skyline ahead of me. The sun was setting at the perfect angle, coating the sky and the skyscrapers in a beautiful pink and white hue, right as “Pink And White” started playing. That image and its accompanying soundtrack are seared into my memory. It’s still one of the most serendipitous and beautiful moments from my time in New York.

While that memory took place driving into Manhattan at sunset, the other took place driving out at sunrise. Well before I met my wife, I was leaving a former girlfriend’s apartment very early on a weekday morning so I could drive home and shower before taking the subway to work. It was around 6am, but it was summertime so daylight was already starting to peek through the buildings. I drove up Fifth Avenue, catching every green light as the sun rose. Before long, I noticed something strange—the streets were completely empty. I was literally in the opening scene from Breakfast At Tiffany’s. I had become so used to fighting my way through aggravating traffic that driving always made me feel tense. But the open road I faced that morning completely disarmed me. I haven’t experienced a drive as peaceful as that before or since.

But like I said at the beginning, all of that is over now. I sold my car many years ago when I moved from Astoria to Manhattan. I now have no shows to go to, no open mics to attend. These days, I just have my job and my apartment. Of course, my wife and I still go out a few times a month, but I’m in my late 30s and she’s in her early 30s. Our mutual desire for nightlife is starting to wane with each passing year. We now place value on comfort rather than novelty. I honestly can’t remember the last time I went downtown. I think there might still have been leaves on the trees.

I suppose I could continue to walk around New York if I decided to just get up and do it. But it wouldn’t be the same. Walking all over New York was the byproduct of an activity, not the activity itself. The animating force behind that walking is gone. If I took the subway downtown and walked around Greenwich Village for no reason in particular, I’d feel like I was putting on an act. The overt effort negates the meaning of the action.

So what is it that I actually want? I miss that time where I used to walk around, but I don’t want to go back to it, for multiple reasons. One, I don’t want to go back to doing stand-up. Two, going back is literally impossible. I also don’t want to actively seek out solo walking opportunities during this new phase of my life. So maybe what I truly want has nothing to do with New York at all.

This might scandalize some readers, especially any who have lived in New York for an extended period of time, but what I want is a new environment. I want space and peace and solitude. What I want is the suburbs.

I’ve spent enough time living in small apartments and walking on crowded sidewalks, surrounded by human bio-mass on all sides. I now want a backyard where I can sit and stare at the grass, throw the ball with my dog, and play with my future kids. I want a home office with shelves that I can neatly fill with books instead of having them stacked on top of each other due to lack of space. I want a car where I can drive and sing along to Y2K era indie-rock on my way to go pick up groceries. I want all of the things I haven’t been able to get in New York for the last 13 years.

New York is about trade offs. You sacrifice all of the stuff I mentioned above for two rewards: activities and proximity. New York has fun things to do, as well as industries and people you want to be close to. Well, I’ve had enough of the activities. I’m too old for them at this point. And I no longer need to be in the city so I can be out doing comedy all night. Riding the train into work a few times a week sounds alright to me. Long commutes are what podcasts and books are for.

I’ve had my fill of what New York can offer. It's not for me anymore, so I need to give up my space to someone who can properly enjoy and take advantage of it. Out with the old, in with the new.

My wife and I have talked about it. This transition won’t happen immediately, but it will be happening soon. I’m more than ready for it. Hopefully, by the time next spring rolls around, we’ll be happily ensconced in some enclave in Connecticut or New Jersey or Westchester. I’ll be glad to finally have all of the suburban perks I now crave. But beyond that, I’ll be glad to not carry any regrets or worries of a wasted youth. There will be no mid-life crisis lurking around the corner because I’ll know I did the absolute most I could with my 20s and 30s while I was here. It will be a peace that I’ve earned, step by step, across all of those walks over the years.