Why?

Why? Even if they hadn’t asked me directly I could see the question mark on their faces when I told them that, after 20 years, I was leaving New York City and moving to the countryside. Brooklyn to be more precise; leaving Brooklyn after a decade. Which is saying something because it's the borough where you supposedly go when you’re done with Manhattan (I personally disagree), but where do you go when you’re done with Brooklyn?

The last few weeks have been a flurry of decision-making, planning, preparation, negotiations, customer service calls (relatively painless, overall), budgeting, packing, donations, what turned out to be a lucrative stoop sale, schlepping…more packing. Powered by sheer will and adrenaline—and help from dear friends, I’ve pushed through it all, never looking back to question even myself. I’m here, gone from there. 20 years of hard-earned convenience and familiarity behind me now.

Did I mention that I’m doing this by myself? Although I’ve visited this town on occasion with significant others, taking in the art museum on the slope of the valley and peering in windows at various real estate postings with quiet hope for the future. It never happened. Today I am looking out my window at the house next door, my backyard and the green wooden garage at the end of it, and I finally do ask myself “Why?”

My answer will evolve over time. I moved here because I quite literally needed a change of scenery. I no longer have the same romantic notions for the locales I once used to love. I craved a challenge in which I actually wasn’t sure I would succeed (my favorite kind). I'm not even sure what the measure of success might be for this.

My relationships need reinforcement. My career needs realignment. My senses need awakening.

The drive back to the city last week – my last return trip – was difficult. It was raining and traffic was bad. It took me two hours to get home. I noticed that the train station here really wasn’t a 15-minute walk. I thought about how I would need to buy a car, and that depressed me. I realized how long it could take for people to visit me, and I got more depressed. I thought about work, and how I don’t have much of it yet. But few people do right now. Loved ones and families live far apart without loss of intimacy. Will we? I'm not even really that far away. Still, immediacy is a thing of the past.

This won’t always be navel-gazing. There’s enough of that. These are just stories.