“In New York, concrete jungle where dreams are made of...
There's nothing you can't do, now you're in New York.
These streets will make you feel brand new
Big lights will inspire you, let's hear it for New York . . . “
I am haunted by this song. I left Manhattan two days ago, and yet the song stays with me. I hear and feel the remnants of Alicia Keys' powerhouse of a voice tickling me behind my ear and up my spine. I can't escape it. This morning on my commute to work I physically shook my head to clear it, only to sit next to a guy with Jay-Z expounding on the city pounding behind his headphones. I am ignoring this obvious sign, but not. The thing is, every time I return from my favorite city I feel the draw. This is probably a common reaction for a lot of people; it doesn't mean they follow through with it and move across the country. Vacation is vacation, a holiday from reality, and the appeal is going to be stronger because of it. I am not immune to the disconnect from real life; I am too practical for that. But the romantic side of me, the side of me that left family and friends behind in Orange County to come to SF four years ago, is pulsing. It's magnetic, and it is powerful.