There are a lot of reasons to love life in a big city. There are even more reasons to love life in the particular big city of New York. Broadway (and off-), restaurants, sights, shopping ... and I did love them all. But what I loved most was the constant sense that once I walked out of my front door in the morning, I had no idea what might happen between that moment and when I arrived home that night.
While there are slight variations, I generally know pretty much exactly what my day is going to be like every single day. I know who I'll see, where I'll go, and what will happen there. You might think this would make me happy. But my life is a conundrum. I'm the least spontaneous person alive. I loathe spur-of-the-moment. Yet I hate being bored or feeling like life is predictable. And in NY, I could have both. I planned my life out for two weeks. There was no point in suggesting we get together in a week and a half; that was booked. There was never an available evening earlier than two weeks hence. This could, in a different place, make life quite predictable indeed.
In NY, though, from that moment when the front door closes behind you, you are never alone, and that brings with it a constant sense of adventure. You're not alone walking down the sidewalk, or in the subway, or at the office, or in restaurants. No one drives (no one except the very rich or the supremely car-addicted), so that "private time" is lost. Take an empty elevator to your office? Dream on! Sit alone at a bar, nursing a drink? Not happening! No, you are around people at every moment. And people are fascinating creatures.
Sometimes, they are fascinating in weird, creepy ways. For instance, I was perusing the aisle at my local supermarket when a man sidled up to me and stopped, inches away. This was a definite invasion of my personal space but, as a sophisticated, worldly New Yorker, I wouldn't dream of assuming it was meant that way. He probably came from a different culture, so I turned to him, questioningly. Different culture, my ass! He leaned in another inch and whispered obscenities to me. It always amazes me how many thoughts can zip through one's mind in the space of a second. Mine dashed to how I tolerate this from construction workers on a daily basis (never mind all the "Fuck You's" I threw disdainfully over my shoulder at them) to how I would not tolerate it in MY supermarket. So, calmly, I opened my mouth, let out a bloodcurdling scream, turned, and continued with my shopping.
There were also the lovely encounters. I picked up a huge box at the post office and before I had time to dread lugging it the six blocks home, a nice guy offered to carry it home for me. He dropped it with me at my front door, waved, and was gone. In a similar vein, I spent an hour in a ticket line on my lunch hour and struck up a conversation with the guy behind me in line. I mentioned that I planned to just grab a hot dog on my way back to work as I hadn't eaten and when I reached the head of the line, he suggested I wait for him and he'd buy me that hot dog. And then proceeded to take me out to a very nice lunch. He made not one inappropriate comment or suggestion, just thanked me for my company.
These interactions cause one to both develop good instincts about danger and to be wary, while simultaneously creating a comfort level with strangers. The query, where to meet people, just never is heard. One meets people everywhere. I've gone out with men I met on the subway (a funny Russian guy), in the grocery store line (he was not so memorable), and in the Laundromat (not a keeper, but a nice guy). There is always the possibility that a new friend - or more - is just around the next corner.
Last, there are the only-in-New-York experiences. I'd been living there less than a year when one day I found myself being taken to lunch at La Cote Basque by an honest-to-god Russian Count. Of course, he was on the other side of 90 at the time, but he was elegant, charming and kind. He saw himself as a goodwill ambassador at my new job, and would always take new people to lunch to welcome them. Of course, all I could think was, "I grew up with chickens in my backyard and now I'm having lunch with a Russian Count!" I knew just how Shirley Maclaine felt when she sang "If They Could See Me Now".
I've done an interview for an early cable show, been invited abroad by a Dentist to the Stars whom I'd barely met, and dined in a penthouse apartment on Park Avenue. I've walked down streets late at night where I feared for my life, and jostled with the crowds on the subway at 2:00 a.m. I've eaten in the finest restaurants and at the lunch counter at Woolworths. I've been to private parties at the Metropolitan Museum and in tiny Hell's Kitchen walk-ups. I've felt every range of emotions known to humans while inhabiting that city of a million stories. The one thing I never, ever was, was bored. And the one thing life never was, was predictable.
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