Not long after a friend on Facebook this weekend asked for tips on maneuvering around New York City with a toddler, Facebook alerted me that it was 10 years ago that day that Paul and I moved to Brooklyn.
Ten years. Wow. It seems like yesterday. And so much has happened in the last decade. A daughter, a return to Columbus, a son. A switch from a journalism job to one in marketing, and now a thriving freelance career. New friends, a new house and new ways to spend a Saturday night.
A lot of people say that high school or college were their happiest years. I have no real complaints about either, but they weren't the years that I would relive. Those six years in New York were some of the best, and certainly the most carefree. I remember very specifically thinking -- feeling -- knowing how lucky I was. I was living in a city people dream of visiting, take time out of their busy lives to play the tourist in. I loved it.
Of course, I'm content now. I have a happy marriage and two wonderful kids. Really, things couldn't get much better. But I still miss New York every day.
Except the Laundromats. I'll never miss those.
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