Flying out a last time
I lived in nYC for 43 years. I'm flying out now likely for the last time ever. Certainly the last time as a resident.
As the plane takes off, I flip you the bird. I say "fuck you" loud enough so my fellow business class travelers interrupt their work.
The whole NYC experience was a shitty mistake. Honestly, fuck you all.
Recall the happy strong optimistic 27 year old running across the GWB planning to conquer midtown five miles to the south, glittering against the Hudson?
I am not that man. I'm an a defeated tired 70-year old.
My parents' ashes wash back and forth there now. I have no one who will return to add mine to theirs.
By any standard I succeeded as a NYC transplant. I started two successful businesses. I did philanthropy at a very serious level. I ran over 7000 loops of Central Park—generally fast. I consumed culture and life experience and wonderful food. I enjoyed huge communities of friends. I made beautiful homes out of wrecked derelict spaces. Many times. I was generous to a fault.
I chose a new life partner, which was the worst mistake of my life, but I had the courage to pretend that experience was happy. I was lying to myself, but I don't know what a better alternative would have been.
I carved an original life out of the huge pressures to conform to cliches—lawyer, investment banker, parent, Christian or Jew, traditional male. I am none of those things and to this day I question first before granting respect to anyone who presents themselves as any of those things.
I had unusual and wonderful lovers around the edges of my relationships.
Anyway, in the end, I know it was all a chimera. I can't imagine a reason to ever go back. A NYC Delusion, a la Christopher Hitchens. I'm leaving alone, though I arrived in a happy smart couple. Best to you, Melanie!
I turn my back toward the rest of you, with a hint of contempt if you honor my ex in any way. She does not value you any more than she valued me or her other discards.
As the plane takes off, I flip you the bird. I say "fuck you" loud enough so my fellow business class travelers interrupt their work.
The whole NYC experience was a shitty mistake. Honestly, fuck you all.
Recall the happy strong optimistic 27 year old running across the GWB planning to conquer midtown five miles to the south, glittering against the Hudson?
I am not that man. I'm an a defeated tired 70-year old.
My parents' ashes wash back and forth there now. I have no one who will return to add mine to theirs.
By any standard I succeeded as a NYC transplant. I started two successful businesses. I did philanthropy at a very serious level. I ran over 7000 loops of Central Park—generally fast. I consumed culture and life experience and wonderful food. I enjoyed huge communities of friends. I made beautiful homes out of wrecked derelict spaces. Many times. I was generous to a fault.
I chose a new life partner, which was the worst mistake of my life, but I had the courage to pretend that experience was happy. I was lying to myself, but I don't know what a better alternative would have been.
I carved an original life out of the huge pressures to conform to cliches—lawyer, investment banker, parent, Christian or Jew, traditional male. I am none of those things and to this day I question first before granting respect to anyone who presents themselves as any of those things.
I had unusual and wonderful lovers around the edges of my relationships.
Anyway, in the end, I know it was all a chimera. I can't imagine a reason to ever go back. A NYC Delusion, a la Christopher Hitchens. I'm leaving alone, though I arrived in a happy smart couple. Best to you, Melanie!
I turn my back toward the rest of you, with a hint of contempt if you honor my ex in any way. She does not value you any more than she valued me or her other discards.
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