Leaving New York

You're on the swings at the playground.

You're swinging higher than you could have imagined when you first got on. You feel the pump in your arms and a serene sense of accomplishment every time you reach the top of your arc.

But you keep looking over at the merry-go-round.

It's the fastest, most crowded merry-go-round you've ever seen. It's so loud. So chaotic. There's a big crowd around it. Every few seconds, someone runs as fast as they can, jumps, and tries to find a grip. Every few seconds, someone else is thrown off.

You think to yourself, "I bet I could get on that thing."

You wind down your swinging and move towards the merry go round. You plot, plan, pick your spot, and then start running as fast as you can. At just the right moment you jump, reach out, and grab just enough of a grip to hang on.

Immediately you're going faster than you've ever gone before. Round and round and round. It's dizzying and out of control in a way you've never experienced before.

And it's exhilarating.

There's an overwhelming amount of sensory stimulation. Everywhere you look is a fractal of ever-changing complexity. You're barraged by the cacophony of sounds. You're stepping on someone's foot. A stranger's elbow is in your side. Someone on the other side of the ride vomits and you catch a little bit of the spray with your face.

All the while, centrifugal force rips at your grip and it takes every bit of strength and concentration you've got to cling to your handhold.

But you're holding on.

You look at everyone around you. Men and women. Old and young. Big and small. Rich and poor. Black, white, and all shades between.

But there's one thing you all have one thing in common:

You're holding on.

A few folks are obviously the strongest people on the playground. Seeing their strength up-close inspires you to grip even tighter.

Others hold on with effortless grace. They look so cool. You feel pretty cool yourself just being on this thing with them.

Others look exhausted and seem bound to be bounced at any moment.

But in this moment – you are all holding on.

Together.

You occasionally catch a glimpse of the swings. With all due respect to the swingers, no one there understands what this merry-go-round feels like. No one there is going this fast or working this hard to avoid getting thrown off. The only people who understand what it's like to hold on are the ones holding on with you.

Then a kid jumps on your back.

At first it's cool – a new way of experiencing the merry-go-round. A new challenge. And that's what this is all about right? Challenging yourself? You elbow your way into a different spot where you can stand up straighter and tighten your grip.

You tell yourself, not only can you keep holding on, but it's actually better for the kid if you do. Can you imagine how strong and cool she'll be if she learns to hold on this young?

Then a second kid jumps on, and your back starts to hurt.

Carrying the kids is quite a challenge of its own. Holding on for the sake of the challenge is starting to feel excessive. Masochistic even.

It's not just the extra weight though.

The merry-go-round seems to have sped up. You notice rust and hear creaking that you didn't bother you before. The stranger's elbow in your side is no longer endearing.

It seems like more folks are falling off, but there's always two more to take their place. Some folks want to get off, but can't because their foot is stuck.

Occasionally your kid catches a little vomit spray and you start to wonder if "exhilarating" might not be best for them after all.

And so – eight years to the day that you hopped on – you say your goodbyes to the folks who have been holding on around you.

And you let go.

Not far away, you find a small patch of grass on a hill overlooking the river where you can spread out a blanket, kick a ball with the girls... and rest.

You know it'll be quieter. And cleaner. And easier.

So much easier.

You just hope it'll also be better.

You might enjoy this companion post on why I loved living in Brooklyn so much.