If places were women, I’d be promiscuous

I’m in New York City for a day. My very close friend from university is visiting from London, and it was easy enough for me to fly from Raleigh, where I recently moved.

It’s been a while since I lived in a big city. I’ve not missed it even though I come from a big city — one of the few ones that truly never sleeps (Moscow). I also lived in London. When I visited New York in the past, I thought it was the best place in the world and the dream place to live.

I’ve not fallen out of love with Big City. But the decade spent in California changed my perspective. I fell in love with the West Coast’s weather, and my passion for running reinforced my attachment to California, especially Orange County.

I recently moved to North Carolina (the “Research Triangle”) and have so far enjoyed this place too. It’s affordable. It’s quiet and cozy but not excessively provincial.

So I arrived in New York and immediately enjoyed the ambience of Big City vibe that I had almost started to forget. I was riding the train to Manhattan and looking at the buildings we passed — apartments, offices, the buildings whose purpose was hard to identify, numerous places for eating, mom-and-pop grocery stores, busy roads and dark passages. Behind every window, a life unfolds, a journey continues, a small universe exists. Millions of these universes move through time and space, from birth to death, while remaining connected in the microcosmos that Big City is.