sarahcentric

For those of you who don’t live in New York City, let me make one thing clear; you don’t live in New York City. You live with New York City. It’s like the most f’d up, co-dependent relationship ever. You’re madly in love with its amazing food, crazy cultural offerings, and the borough of your choice, (QUEENS!) But you will fight with New York City and fight often…in front of friends and strangers. Standing on line and crying as you wait for your veggie burrito bowl from Chipotle, in fact. Work was tough yesterday. And I’m not sure how, but I’m pretty certain that New York City had something to do with this.

I know I can’t blame New York City entirely for yesterday’s Chipotle breakdown, what with it being an inanimate geographical location and all. No, wait…. f–k that! I can! New York City is a being- an urban Transformer, a co-dependent version of Optimus Prime!- whom you wrap all of your dreams, expectations, disappointments, and issues in and wrestle with everyday you decide to live here.

In order to save our relationship, I recharge in my small hometown- little weekend escapes with friends and family every 6 weeks or so. I do not use the word “escape” lightly. NYC can be such a manipulative jerk sometimes, as is evident by our conversation before I left for the Memorial Day weekend.

NYC: “Where are you going?”
Sarah: “I need a break. I told you I was going upstate for Memorial Day!”
NYC: “So what, that new bar down the street isn’t good enough for you?”
Sarah: “Oh, come on…”
NYC: “No! Seriously, what the hell is upstate that you can’t do here?”
Sarah: “My family, it’s quiet, fresh air…”
NYC: “Oh my god, is this about the poop smell?!”
Sarah: “We shouldn’t talk about this-”
NYC: “It IS! What the hell can I do?! Sometimes it smells like poop here, what’s the big deal?!”
Sarah: “What’s the big deal??!! It doesn’t smell like poop anywhere else!!!”
NYC: “It doesn’t always smell like that. And what about those dairy farms in your hometown?!”
Sarah: “That’s different. That’s actual poop, it’s charming…wait, stop. I don’t want to talk about this anymore. I’m going to miss my train.”
NYC: “Yeah, good luck with that.”
Sarah: (frustrated sigh) Can you pleeeeease try to not be a dick and delay the train, change the platform, or switch to a holiday schedule at the last minute.
(tense silence from New York City)
Sarah: PLEASE??!!
NYC: “Whatever. Have fun.”

The fact is, New York City had every right to be jealous last weekend. My hometown is pretty sweet and relaxing whenever I get a chance to visit. But it’s Comfy Index is extraordinarily high over Memorial Day weekend, thanks to the local winery’s awesome Bob Dylan-fest- three days of cute coverbands, mediocre wine, amazing apple cider, and salty/cheesy brick oven pizzas. Dogs and kids run the joint. Bocce courts, hula hoops from the 50s, and hackey-sacks from the 90s… as far as the eye can see. Pretty impressive summer good times.

This is definitely a tourist event, no doubt. I can’t blame the locals for scoffing at it. They may even see me as one of the dreaded New York City weekenders! But Dylanfest’s awesome-ness transcends these locals/tourists wars. It is too hard for my old friends, casual/awkward high school acquaintances, and my 100 brothers and sisters to resist. Bob Dylan would be proud

The celebration didn’t end once the goat cheese pizza and framboise cider were kicked. Scott, (as seen above, displaying his mad softball skills), and his fiancee invited everyone over to take summer comfi-ness to the next level. That could only mean a barbecue. Which, of course, means a run to the deli for salsa and chips with friends, listening to 80s music, and my sister playing an over-exaggerated air guitar on her leg which involves her foot being very close to my face. (This part of her signature move makes me crazy.) This naturally leads to hours of conversation about growing up in my hometown at the barbecue, abruptly ending when Scott throws a rubber snake scaring the s–t out of us. We leave only to meet up with my little brother, who has turned up down the street at a local bar with some of his friends-one of whom I sang with in high school chorus. My youngest brother, and I (who used to wear his halloween pumpkin costume everyday as pajamas when he was little, p.s.), have a surprise intense conversation about my life. The kind that ends with a big sister/little brother hug, tears in my eyes, and a journal entry that night to make sure it’s on the record. Then my sister and I head back to Scott’s because we’re starving for some more chips and salsa.

Just an average weekend upstate.

There are the obvious benefits of a little weekend trip out of the city that I think we can all appreciate. But what about the not so obvious that only I can really see? The cells, atoms, nano-molecule dots that make me me are whipped into a frenzied storm everyday in New York City. That is what makes living in this city so amazing and awful at the same time. But when I get upstate and allow the nano-molecule storm to settle, I am able to remember that I am the eye in the center of that storm.

It’s not just my hometown. This is where I am from and I where I am always welcome to be at any given moment, if I take the time to remember.

Memorial Day weekend or not.