Though I grew up in New York, I’ve lived a couple of other places, too. The point of getting out was to know that, when I came back, I was coming back to home. That I was sure I knew what “home” meant. And now that I’ve gone and returned, I’m sure I know. I’ve been called a snob, provincial (ironic, yes), elitist, arrogant. I’ve been told I’m mad, delusional - and stupid - when I declare that I’d never consider being seriously involved with a man to whom this city didn’t mean everything, too. And to those people who insist that my resoluteness is ridiculous - everything that most people hate about New York and New Yorkers - I say come take a run with me through Prospect Park in late March while the sun is setting, and then tell me you are not filled with a feeling that is bigger than you, too.
I dare you.
M
