What I’ll Miss About New York (And What I Definitely Won’t)

Taken moments before throwing my mattress down 4 flights of stairs.

I am sitting on my Aunt’s couch in Colorado nursing a bloody nose. I haven’t been back here in nearly a year and it shows. The altitude is kicking my ass. That plus the fires are making me into a little crisp raisin of a person.

Last weekend my little brother and I threw my mattress down four flights of stairs and drove a minivan full of my shit from New York to Colorado.

27 hours, 2 days, and lots of junk food later, here I am.

I am home.

I was born and raised in Colorado. But despite its wilderness and natural wonders, I wanted a different kind of wild. I wanted a new life entirely.

So on July 6, 2017, I packed two bags and moved to New York City with no plan, no job, and some really impractical shoes. You’ve been hearing me tell this story ever since then so I’m sure you’re tired of hearing it.

The point is, I threw myself into the void and I prayed that something would catch me. In a lot of ways, I had convinced myself that I wouldn’t make it a month. Maybe not even a week if I kept wearing those stupid paper shoes!

I made it 3 years, 2 months, and 13 hours. Actually I don’t know about the hours thing I just made that one up, but you get the idea.

I left in a hurry, just like I came. I told no one and I threw everything in suitcases and trash bags and hit the road. It was all a blur and I’m positive all of you are sitting over there going, “Wait WTF, she moved out of New York?!?!”

Believe me, I’m as shocked as you are.

Due to the raging dumpster fire that is 2020, I’ve been unemployed for two months, slowly losing my mind and watching from a distance as my parents continue to one-up each other with a buffet of health issues.

I’ve been homesick and confused and boy, have I taken a lot of depression naps!

It’s impossible to say if this is an end of an era, a chapter, whatever metaphor you’d like to use to refer to my “New York Years.” All I know is that it happened and it changed me enough to write a lengthy blog post about it.

Here’s what I’ll miss…and what I won’t:

I will miss that skyline.

I will miss my friends; old and new, strange and funny and creative.

I won’t miss the fucking MTA.

I repeat. I won’t miss the fucking MTA. Not one god damn bit.

I will miss celebrity encounters (although I’m still bitter I never met Tom Hanks).

I won’t miss 4th-floor walk-ups.

I won’t miss trash castles on the sidewalk.

I will miss my roommates, Simone and Joy, the longest relationships I have managed to hold onto in my entire life.

I will miss hearing music in the distance, on the street or in a park, and looking for the source.

I will miss the rush of ACTUALLY MAKING IT BEFORE THOSE SUBWAY DOORS CLOSE I AM SUPERHUMANNNN.

I will not miss getting catcalled.

I will not miss running late to literally every place I ever tried to go.

I will miss our pizza place.

I will miss my bodega guy and his smile when he said “Hello, Mami!”

I will not miss $20 cocktails.

I will miss CVS, Duane Reade, and if I’m feeling ratchet, Rite Aid.

I will miss packed comedy clubs and really slaying it.

I will not miss not having a closet.

I will not miss having my packages stolen off my front porch.

I will miss “SHOWTIME, Everybody, SHOWTIME” unless I’m tired and this train is delayed because I really don’t want to catch a shoe to the face right now.

I will not miss the fish market on my old block that was stinky as hell.

I will miss Bacon, Egg, and Cheeses at 2 AM. Really any time. That shit is delicious.

I will miss those tiny little blue cups for coffee with the greek stuff on it.

I will miss riding a couch carousel on a rooftop drunk on Cinco de Mayo.

I will miss dog park Saturdays and getting asked which dog is my dog and looking like a psychopath who just sits in dog parks even though I don’t have a dog.

I will miss doing improv shows.

I will miss laughing at my friends coming to visit who always end up passing out on my kitchen floor in the exact same position.

I will not miss stepping in dog/human shit on a regular basis.

I will not miss paying a locksmith $150 to break open my mailbox and then finding my mail key the very next day.

I will not miss spending all day trying to acquire enough quarters to do my laundry in the basement only for the machine to break.

I will not miss shitty landlords.

I will not miss bed bugs.

I will miss finding random pieces of furniture on the sidewalk like a daily garage sale.

I will miss 75 cent bagels.

I will miss running into people I know on the street which feels statistically impossible considering everyone and their mother lives there.

I will miss discovering a hidden new restaurant.

I will miss meeting two lovely Brits on their honeymoon in a speakeasy on my birthday who later housed me during the Edinburgh Fringe Festival.

I will miss colliding with Josh Groban’s chest in a theater and yelling, “ARE YOU JOSH GROBAN?”

I will not miss being punched on the subway by a crazy lady an hour after colliding with Josh Groban’s chest.

I will not miss first and last month’s rent, double security deposits, and lying about how much money I make just to get approved for an apartment.

I will miss being a nanny to three adorable boys and only occasionally pretending to be their mother in public.

I will miss the day I got the email that I was getting published and sobbing in Grand Army Plaza and calling everybody I knew.

I will miss the mystery of the Z train.

I will not miss the smell of a homeless person sitting next to me on the subway.

I will not miss the doctor who told me I didn’t have double vision and just needed to “move my whole head to look at something.”

I will miss the perfect fall morning and grabbing a coffee on the way into the city.

I will miss brunch that I can’t afford but fuck it.

I will miss teaching a couple of dudes how to do standup comedy and watching them blossom and grow on stage.

I will not miss being asked at Thanksgiving, “So have you ever thought about auditioning for SNL?”

I will not miss that time I asked a guy to take me to a “quiet spot” for a date and he took me to a bar where a 12-piece jazz band was playing. Not his fault but still LOL.

I will miss wholesome conversations with Uber drivers that end in one of us telling the other our life story (when I’m in the mood for it).

I will not miss breaking up with someone at JFK.

I will miss the conversation that followed that breakup with a Columbian cab driver who took me out for pizza on the way home and reassured me that I would find love again.

I will not miss trying to be in public on New Year’s Eve, July 4th, or any time where everyone else is outside.

I will miss that rare moment when you get a whole subway car to yourself.

I will not miss getting kicked out of Buzzfeed for asking if I could “talk to Dan.”

I will not miss man-spreaders.

I will not miss actively trying not to make eye contact with the psychopath on the street, train, etc.

I will miss seeing the Empire State Building change colors every night.

I will not miss getting spit on but I was a white girl with tattoos living in Brooklyn so I kind of get it.

I will miss everyone saying good morning to you in Brooklyn.

I will miss Zabar’s in UWS.

I will miss Drunken Dumplings in LES.

I will miss BLM marches across the Brooklyn Bridge.

I will not miss bringer shows and whoring out 12 of my friends to pay $50 to see my comedy.

I will miss finding money on the ground when I was at my most broke. Seriously, I found so much money on the ground you would not believe.

I will not miss packing my bag like I’m going to Mordor. Snacks, sunscreen, change of clothes, water, a golf club, I mean you never know what’s gonna happen.

I will not miss my mother asking me if I’m being hit by a car every single day for 3 years when I’m just walking outside on the sidewalk which is where people walk.

I will miss sneaking an entire box of wine into a concert, getting lost in Queens, and crying in an Uber Pool with Mary. I repeat. An Uber Pool.

I will not miss sleeping on a bunk bed for 10 months with 20 strangers in a “co-living” house which was just a glorified hostel.

I will miss being on TV and feeling like a celebrity during my book launch.

I will miss storytelling shows.

I will not miss hauling Trader Joe’s home after I clearly went a little overboard.

I will miss seeing my book in the Barnes and Noble shop window in downtown Brooklyn.

I will not miss being over-stimulated every second of every day by the screeching sounds of the subway, screaming children, and the noise of the city.

I will not miss trying to not accidentally commit tax fraud because of the 20 different part-time jobs I had.

I will miss the energy of that place. Something so inexplicable I don’t know I’ll ever be able to describe it. Just this non-stop buzzing of people and things. It was almost like we all knew, deep down, that we were in the greatest city in the world.

Regrets? Oh, I don’t have any. Only that I couldn’t stay a little longer.

It wasn’t the safest of places at times, but it was mine. I liked that danger, always underneath everything I did. Was I going to get the job? Make the train? Lose my wallet? I never knew what obstacles New York would bring me each day. And that was kind of exciting.

When I arrived, I didn’t know who I was or what I wanted. I would never call myself an artist or a writer or a comedian. I had no confidence and I was desperately seeking to fill a void at the bottom of my stomach.

That void is full now. It’s brimming with crazy stories, new friendships, and once-in-a-lifetime experiences I never imagined for myself back when I first stepped foot in the Big Apple.

Sure, it took a bite out of me. Existing in that place was not at all like Meg Ryan makes it seem in You’ve Got Mail.

But all of those bad days taught me that I’m more resilient than I thought I was. And it really is true, if you can make it there, you can make it anywhere.

That place will always be with me. Like a beautiful garbage stain on my heart.

Thanks for the memories, New York. You can keep the mattress.

Love,

M