Earlier this week, while talking to one of my friends about the parking situation by our apartment, I described lower Manhattan as a ghost town on weekend nights. My friend laughed and pointed out that "I had become quite the city slicker" if I think any part of New York City qualifies as a ghost town. Having lived near a real ghost town in Colorado, I know Manhattan lacks the overgrown fields, dilapidated cabins, and rotting barns that characterize that tourist attraction, but for some reason lower Manhattan feels more deserted than the shell of that abandoned homestead. Lately I've noticed that I have an intense dislike for tourists, I can navigate my way through any subway line, and I have such a fondness for the food sold on sidewalks that I am on a first name basis with some of the vendors. While these things certainly don't make me a New Yorker, they do represent things I never thought I would accomplish and certainly distance me from my country fried past.
Over spring break, however, I learned that I was not so much a city person as I am a person who can handle New York City. A trip to London put things in perspective. I came into London confident that after New York, I could handle anything. I was wrong. I had turned into the hated tourist that walked on the wrong side of the sidewalk, talked in a loud American accent, and never really knew where I was going. Although I thoroughly enjoyed my week cavorting through England, I felt a longing to be back in the city where I was accustomed to the food, landmarks, people, and even the time the sun rises. I am not and will never be a city girl, but for the time being I am a New York City resident. I couldn't be happier with the education this city gives me.
