Thoughts on Leaving New York
Sharing a conversation with a friend
I met up with a good friend last week to catch up over coffee-turned-martinis (it had been a while!). She lived in New York City for ten years, until her partner’s job unexpectedly took them to California.
It’s been two years now and she’s still adjusting to the difference. Before we met, I expected the usual: stories of cheaper housing, calmer mornings, more space. But what lingered most in our conversation wasn’t what she’d gained, rather, it was what she still missed.
I found the conversation illuminating and wanted to share it with you as well (with her permission, of course!). Here’s what my friend had to say.
There’s definitely grief in leaving New York. A kind of affliction you don’t always recognize until months (sometimes years) after you’ve gone.
I hope you don’t misunderstand me. Relocating was the right thing for our family and I’m glad we jumped on the opportunity, but I’d be lying if I told you I’ve moved on from the city. It’s hard to explain. I love where I live now. But New York was part of my identity.
“The city was like a person to me.”
I’d guess that for many New Yorkers, the city isn’t just a place you pass through or merely live in. It’s something you mold yourself to. It rewires your being, your expectations, your standards for what life should feel like.
And when you leave? You’re not just leaving a city. You’re stepping away from a version of yourself that only existed in that place.
What surprised me most these past two years was how often the longing surfaces in small, quiet ways. Not with grand declarations of “I never should’ve left.” But in the tiniest daily details.
I miss walking out my door and being surrounded by life! Even a walk to the grocery store resulted in stories.
On the anniversary of my 10th year of living in New York, I thought I was tired of the noise, but now I miss it. I miss the chatty corner bodegas. I miss not having to get into a car to buy toothpaste. I miss having a reason to dress up.
People leave for all kinds of reasons. Money, family, burnout, change. And often those are the right choices. New York can be exhausting. It asks a lot. It rarely slows down. And for some, the trade-offs become too steep.
People move on and build beautiful, full lives elsewhere. When they leave, they gain a lot. A yard. A dishwasher. Convenience.
But what you might not expect is the part of yourself you’ll leave behind. The version that was scrappier, hungrier, more in motion. The part that came alive on a crowded avenue at dusk.
There’s a line I read once: “Leaving New York is like breaking up with someone you still love.” And that feels about right. It doesn’t mean you made the wrong choice. But sometimes you still find yourself scrolling through old photos or re-watching mundane videos just to feel it all again. It’s so bizarre.
Perhaps the thing that has stayed with me most is the rhythm of New York. I’m embarrassed to admit that I’ve grown impatient with inefficiency. I expect things to operate at a similar speed (of course they can’t, I know this!).
Likewise, I didn’t realize how much I relied on the city to entertain me. To energize me. Out here, I have to create that for myself. It’s not a complaint, just an observation. When the city disappears from your daily life, you’re left with the quiet space it used to fill.
And sometimes, that quiet is exactly what someone needs.
But sometimes, it’s lonely.
Sometimes, it makes you wonder if you were your truest self back in that too-small apartment on the fifth floor of a walk-up in Crown Heights. That’s something I’m trying to reconcile as we start our third year in a blissfully sunny town where the mild temperatures year-round are supposed to be enough. Supposed to.