On the Ephemerality of New York City

What it means to be the kind of person who moves to New York

Musings after a particularly beautiful weekend in New York

Because my mother lives 2,903 miles away from me, she asks reasonable questions, like “How’s your back after hauling an 8-month-old, a stroller, and four bags of groceries up four flights of stairs?” Or, “Wouldn’t it be easier to raise a baby outside of New York?” Or, “When are you coming home?”

She’s practical. She misses her granddaughter. But if I look past her innocent questions, I see misunderstanding. She doesn’t realize I can’t live anywhere else—because there’s nowhere like New York for someone like me.

It’d be easy to write her off, but in so many ways she’s right. I mean, what type of person willingly signs up for the indignities that New York City hurls? Cramped apartments, exorbitant rents, endless noise. Chaos over comfort.

Restless by convenience. What kind of person chooses to live like this — on purpose?

And, perhaps most importantly, is moving to New York ever really a choice for someone like that?

If you want a moderate, measured life, you don’t come here. You come to New York because some part of you craves extremes – the highest highs alongside the inevitable lows. You come because you want to test yourself, to see how much you can grow and who you can become when the training wheels are off.

On the (real) challenges of living in New York

In time, the constant noise of NYC serves as a welcome distraction from one of the hardest difficulties of living in NYC: the distance from family. The city tends to attract people who come from elsewhere—often far elsewhere. Those who arrive full of excitement and independence, ready to reinvent themselves, and that’s wonderful… until the holidays hit, or your mom has a health scare, or you see your old friends back home having a weekend escape without you.

Suddenly, the miles between you and your loved ones feel brutally real. Early on, I insisted I was fine being so far from family. I’d call home once a week, swap updates, then dive back into my life. But as the years go by, I feel the ache of missed milestones. My four-year-old niece and newborn nephew are growing up, and I only see them on FaceTime. My dad casually mentions a BBQ he hosted, and I realize I wasn’t there for his helplessly burned steaks.

My four-year-old niece enjoying grandma’s garden

The bittersweet juxtaposition of the two different versions of my life gets to me.

Missing sentimental family moments are the sacrifices those who flock to New York make. We trade proximity to our past lives for the thrilling uncertainty of our future. Loneliness in New York is a peculiar thing: you’re surrounded by people at all times, yet you can feel very alone when your heart is in two places at once. The city attracts the bold and the ambitious, yes, but also the ones willing to endure that heartache of distance because something about New York calls to them more strongly than the pull of home.

Then there’s the infamous hustle of New York. There’s a silent, mutual agreement among New Yorkers that we’re all here to do or become something exceptional. It’s as if the city reminds us daily, “Keep up, keep moving, or you’ll get left behind.” So we do. We schedule our lives to the brim, juggling jobs and side-hustles and social events and creative projects.

It’s a bizarre mindset, the cult of busyness, but it thrives here.

On one hand, it pushes you to achieve things you never thought possible; on the other, it’s easy to burn out under the neon lights. Sometimes, my mind drifts to simpler places—quiet towns where people actually relax in the evenings or go to bed at a reasonable hour. The hustle can hollow you out if you’re not careful. I’ve learned (the hard way) to carve out small pockets of stillness for myself: an evening walk through the park without my phone, a solo date on the town.

But between you and me, as much as I resent the never-ending hustle, I also crave it. I suspect that paradox defines the kind of person who moves here.

So, Why Stay?

Despite these challenges, why do people remain so stubbornly in love with New York? I ask myself this often. The thought of leaving always feels like a nonstarter. On a weekly basis, small things happen that remind me why I can’t leave this place.

One evening not long ago, I found myself on a rooftop in Brooklyn, at a friend-of-a-friend’s party. The view was a magnificent uninterrupted panorama of the Manhattan skyline lit up by a striking sunset. We gathered at the parapet to watch the city transition from day to night. In that moment, I felt a surge of emotion well up in my chest. I looked at the silhouette of the Empire State Building against a cotton-candy sky and thought, I can’t believe I live here.

How lucky can one person be?

Daily views like this never get old

The romance of New York washed over me in full force. There’s something about the city that generates moments like this in spades. Living in NYC can feel like having the world at your fingertips. You pay dearly for the privilege, but what an incredible privilege it is.

Beyond the big, shiny things (the skyline, the museums, the iconic hotspots), it’s also the tiny, soulful experiences unique to this place that tether me here. It’s as if the intensity of this place cracks people open, and every now and then you see right into someone’s heart, or they into yours. I’ve had deep conversations with cab drivers and spontaneous connections with neighbors over the past couple years.

I’ve seen acts of kindness that would surprise cynics – like the time a bunch of commuters formed an assembly line to help a man in a wheelchair carry his groceries up a broken escalator, dispersing afterward as if it were nothing. These moments make the hardships feel worth it. They root you to the city, emotionally and even spiritually.

Over time, I’ve come to realize that living in New York is a relationship. Even though sometimes it feels more like loving a feral cat. This city can break your heart in the morning and mend it by midnight.

Why Certain People Can’t Stay Away from New York

I used to think New York attracted the fearless. Those who thrive on chaos. That’s certainly part of it—there are plenty of ambitious dreamers here, thick-skinned and driven. But if I’ve learned anything, it’s that New Yorkers (native or adopted) are often secretly soft-hearted under that tough exterior. The city attracts romantic realists: people who still believe in the magic of possibility.

It attracts storytellers, people who would rather have a great story (even if it comes from a mishap) than a quiet, uneventful life. You’ve got to have a sense of humor, too – a willingness to find the absurdity delightful instead of demoralizing. I think NYC calls to people who aren’t afraid to feel everything, at once.

If you want a moderate, measured life, you don’t come here. You come to New York because some part of you craves extremes – the highest highs alongside the inevitable lows. You come because you want to test yourself, to see how much you can grow and who you can become when the training wheels are off.

In a very real way, New York attracts people who are in love with the idea of New York. That sounds circular, but it’s true: we’re drawn by the city’s mythology, and then we stay for personal reasons. We grow fond of the things we once feared.

I often catch myself in little moments of daily life where I’m struck by nostalgia for the present, if that makes sense. Like I’ll be walking through Washington Square Park and see the old men playing chess and I’ll feel a preemptive nostalgia, aware that this slice of life is fleeting and precious.

New York teaches you that—things change fast here, neighborhoods evolve, people come and go. Maybe the kind of person New York attracts is someone who appreciates that ephemerality. We know every moment in this city is unique, so we treasure it even as it passes.

Maybe that’s why I’m so keen on taking so many photos of this place — my version of a love letter to the city.

At this point, I’ve been here long enough to have a more balanced view than I did as that starry-eyed newcomer five years ago. I see New York differently now—the rampant inequity that sits alongside the wealth, the way the city can chew people up, the fact that it’s not all art galleries and close friends indulging in gossip in cozy book-lined lofts (my younger self was very disappointed to realize that Sex and the City was not a documentary).

Stumbling upon random performances in city parks - so many perks of living in NYC

The reality is messier. But ironically, understanding the reality has only deepened my love.

I love New York not in spite of its flaws, but with its flaws. I love that it’s both glamorous and grimy. The freedom to be weird, to be yourself, to find your niche no matter how niche-y it is, is unparalleled. The city attracts people who need freedom.

In the end, maybe NYC attracts people who are a little bit in love with struggle itself. Not because we enjoy suffering, but because we intuitively know that the worthwhile things in life are usually a package deal of pain and beauty. The artists, the entrepreneurs, the misfits, the idealists, the ambitious immigrants, the fresh graduates with big dreams—New York exists, and so we come.

We come ready to wrestle with the city, and in doing so, we end up wrestling with ourselves, shaping ourselves. I am undeniably a different person now than I would have been if I’d stayed in the comfort of my hometown. New York has made me tougher, yes, but also kinder. I’ve learned to embrace contradictions: I can be both exhausted and inspired, lonely and deeply connected—all in the same day even. It takes a special kind of person to not only tolerate that, but to thrive in it, maybe even to need it.

Perhaps that’s the final clue to the kind of person NYC attracts: the ones who, once they’ve tasted this life, find it hard to let go. The city changes you, claims a piece of you. I suspect I’ll always be tethered to New York, no matter where I go.

So, I ask again, what kind of person does New York City attract? People who are a bundle of contradictions. Those who are hopeful but not naive, tough but not unfeeling, independent but craving community. People who willingly trade comfort for the thrill of the unknown.

Give me all the noise, I want to be a part of something bigger than myself. Five years in and I find the din oddly comforting, like the city reminding me it’s alive, and therefore I am too.

Come tomorrow morning, I’ll join the stream of eclectic humanity on the sidewalk, and I’ll feel that familiar, unlikely gratitude: I’m here. However chaotic it gets, this is exactly where I want to be.

Please tell me I’m not the only one that feels this way.

All this to say, I’m curious what made you fall in love with New York?

Cheers,

Antonina