The artfully curated collection of photographs on the walls of my friend’s charming Brooklyn apartment—an antique truck in sepia tones, a dapper fox in a suit, and a striking black-and-white close-up of wheat—seemed to taunt me. Each image, along with her impressive library of classic literature and an eclectic assortment of vintage vinyl records resting against an old turntable, conveyed a powerful message: Observe closely. This is the path you chose not to take.
During a recent work trip, I strolled through the picturesque backstreets of her Brooklyn neighborhood with her and her friends. She animatedly highlighted the unique features of the homes, the restaurants, the architectural gems, and their rich history. Laughter filled the air as they recounted tales of their shared adventures in various bars and pubs. Their insider knowledge of the best eateries, signature cocktails, and must-try salads only deepened my envy.
Fifteen years ago, at the dawn of my twenties, I dreamed of moving to New York without ever having seen it. Drawn to the city like a moth to a flame, I announced to my then-boyfriend, at the end of my college career in 2000, that I intended to apply for an internship at CBS in New York. He pursued the same opportunity and landed it. I didn’t. But that didn’t stop me; I ventured to New York that year, filled with a mix of excitement and anxiety—my heels were literally shaking as I navigated the notoriously tough streets.
New York was everything I had imagined and more. Each visit ignited a passionate longing; I roamed the streets picturing myself living there, peeking into apartment windows, browsing “For Rent” signs, and absorbing snippets of subway conversations while scanning job listings. Yet, I never dared to think seriously about making that leap. As a naive 23-year-old, fear held me back from embracing what felt like an exhilarating risk.
My infatuation with New York City resembled a crush on someone unattainably attractive. The yearning was sometimes unbearable, and I gradually began to focus on the negatives—too expensive, overly crowded, dispassionate, and risky—convincing myself that perhaps I didn’t truly desire it after all, just as a defense against potential heartbreak. I decided that moving to New York was impractical.
Like the allure of that stunning crush, I buried my dreams of New York. In the decade since I last visited, I married, shifted careers, welcomed two children, purchased two homes, relocated to two different cities, built a new career as a writer, and started anew after escaping an abusive relationship. Meanwhile, my high school friend had settled into life in New York City, thriving in a successful career, cultivating a vibrant circle of friends, and traveling the world. She shared a bed each night with my long-lost crush—the vibrant city that had once captivated me.
Over the two days I spent with her, I felt as though I had been thrust into a contemporary version of It’s a Wonderful Life. I was confronted with a stark reminder of the alternative life I could have lived had I not been paralyzed by fear. Perhaps had I been more courageous, I too might be inhabiting a lovingly furnished Brooklyn apartment, enjoying weekends antiquing in Connecticut, and embarking on business trips to China. Maybe I wouldn’t be navigating a contentious divorce or parenting solo.
Walking the streets of Brooklyn after a delightful dinner with her friends, I shared my admiration for her life. She looped her arm through mine as we swayed slightly from the cocktails. She confessed her happiness but also revealed a lingering emptiness. Her friend chimed in, sharing the challenges of meeting new people in a city like New York—how the vastness can make finding a compatible partner feel daunting. As the night unfolded, I realized I had spent the evening with three intelligent, attractive women—each navigating the complexities of being single in the city. It seemed New York was a lover to many, and the prospect of finding another sometimes paled in comparison.
The next day, I wandered through the city, reflecting on the lives I had explored: my friend’s, my own, and the one I had let slip away. During a break from the conference I was attending, I took a stroll, following the “go” signals at intersections. For an hour, I meandered, lost in thought about the choices we make and the paths we choose. I left with no clear resolution or sense of closure, but I recognized that we all tread the paths we have the courage to pursue at any given moment.
Maybe it truly is as simple as accepting the directions that signal “go.” If you can find joy in the journey, then you’re on the right track. If you can look back with pride, knowing you did your best, and look ahead with determination for tomorrow, that’s what matters most—regardless of your location, relationship status, or the curated photographs gracing your walls. It’s not about the walls or where they stand, but about the connections you foster within them and the love that remains when all else fades away.
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Summary:
This reflective piece navigates the author’s feelings of nostalgia and envy towards a life unlived in New York City, contrasted with her friend’s successful journey in the same city. Through candid exploration of choices made and paths taken, it emphasizes the importance of finding joy in one’s journey and cherishing the love and connections we make along the way.