Other things being equal - but when was that ever so - I should be moving house today. I've asked a few people to cover the gap with guest posts. Ronni Bennett of Time Goes By has herself recently moved, so it seems appropriate that her post on the effects of that move should appear today.
When Ian asked me to guest blog for him during his move to a new home,
I couldn’t help but think about my own recent move undertaken when the
costs associated with living in New York City became, for a variety of
reasons, no longer tenable.
It was a hard decision to make – to leave New York City, my home of 37
years, and to give up my 200-year-old Greenwich Village apartment of 23
years. I’d made a vow when I bought the place in 1983, that they would
take me out feet first; I’d done all the moving I was ever going to do
in my life.
Even two decades younger than I am now, I should have known better than
to make such an absolutist pronouncement; life quite commonly makes
fools of those who do.
Once I contained my rage at being forced out of the city I had dreamed
of living in from childhood, I wondered how well I would adapt, at age
65, to an entirely new place - a small town of 62,000 compared to New
York’s eight million, and one about which I had only the slightest
knowledge.
I’ve been arguing against ageist myths since I began my blog more than
two years ago. Now I would find out if I am as adaptable to new
circumstances as I’ve been claiming elders, contrary to those myths,
are.
As I write this, having been in Portland, Maine, now for
four-and-a-half weeks, I can report that it suits me well – home and
city – and what small glitches there are to settling in are only the
time lag in learning new methods of recycling, heating, shopping,
banking, etc. that were second nature in New York. Hardly a stretch to
manage.
Aside from friends I saw frequently, I haven’t missed New York yet.
Already, that old line about living in Manhattan (“All New Yorkers
believe that people who live anywhere else are, in some sense,
kidding.”) has begun to sound a tad more self-admiring than I’m
comfortable with from this distance.
Don’t get me wrong; I loved my 37 years in the Big Apple. I’m just less
convinced now that the superiority New Yorkers feel their residency
accords them (of which I have been guilty) is deserved. On the other
hand, I hold my tongue and try not to show my irritation every time a
new Maine acquaintance impugns my former city, which happens more
frequently than I would have supposed.
Until I became accustomed to it, Portland felt like a ghost town to me
compared to New York’s excessive crowding. There are so few people in
the streets of the business section at lunch time, it is easy to
imagine a neutron bomb has been detonated.
Now, after only a month, I relish the ease of walking down the street
without being smacked into by pedestrians lost in musical iPod reveries
or cell phone conversations paying no mind to having bruised my leg
with their briefcases or smashed the side of my head with their
backpacks - not uncommon occurrences in New York. Street life is more
civilized, I know now, when there is less of it.
There is little sense of bustle and hurry here and although I will
forever defend the friendliness of New Yorkers, it is of a different
sort. Portlanders are more likely to leisurely pass the time of day.
The bank teller already knows my name. The guy who mans my favorite
vegetable stand at the weekly farmer’s market recognizes me now. The
lady behind the counter where I buy my newspaper has begun to greet me
like a long-time customer.
There is no hurry in these transactions as there is in New York where a
conversation can be continued in short bursts over several days without
either party missing a beat. Each way of doing it, I think, has its
virtues and drawbacks.
It took no more than a day to adapt to the quiet in my new
neighborhood. Horn honking - without which no vehicle can travel more
than 50 feet in New York City 24/7 - is almost unknown here. I have yet
to wake during the night in my new bedroom and that hadn’t happened in
New York in at least a decade.
The most difficult change is the necessity to drive somewhere even for
the most minor requirements of life. In New York, food – and pretty
much anything else – is no more than half a block or even only a phone
call away. In Portland, if I need a quart of milk or have run out of
bathroom tissue, it’s not just a quick run to the corner - it’s a drive
of 15 to 30 minutes depending on the item.
At those times, I long for the guys at my corner deli in New York, but
I’ll just have to do a better job than I have so far of keeping a
running list of items I need. It is, after all, how most of the people
in the United States live. Give me another couple of weeks and I think
I’ll work it out.
If that’s the biggest problem in my move – and it is – adapting, even
at 65, is obviously not an issue. It’s been so easy and so pleasant a
change in daily life that it has crossed my mind a couple of times that
I should have done this years go. Interesting thought, but I have no
patience for regrets. I’m here now, happy in my new home and I wish Ian
as easy a transition to his new life.
Ronni's experience seems to mirror that of many people (including me) that life in smaller towns and cities has much to offer and they are not the cultural desert denizens of places like London and New York would have us believe. You might want to look at the Cool Town Studios blog, devoted to just this point.
