5 Things I Miss about NYC

When I was in middle school, I told my friend Matt that one day I’d live in New York. We were thirteen, planning our Manhattan apartments as if we already had leases.

As an Indian kid growing up in the Bay Area, New York felt far away. I romanticized it, the way many do: the noise, the ambition, the belief that something extraordinary could happen to you there.

I didn’t end up there immediately. I went to college in Philadelphia, spent summers interning in the city, and finally moved in 2018 to end long-distance with my wife. Our first apartment was a block from Penn Station. There was no neighborhood charm, no quiet. But we didn’t care, we were just happy to call the city our home.

Over the years, we fell in love with the city. We moved neighborhoods, found our favorite restaurants, settled into its pace. New York is a living thing. It can be exhausting, magnetic, and endlessly changing. You could spend your whole life there and still feel like you were just getting started.

At the end of August, we finally left. It was a decision years in the making, and harder than we expected. As I get settled into my new life back in the suburbs…I’ve found myself reflecting on what I miss about New York and what I’m starting to love about life outside it:

I miss the Manhattan skyline.

The way those buildings rose as if belief alone could hold them up. The way they made you feel part of something vast, living proof of what human hands can will into existence.

They reminded me that progress was proof of life.

But I like the trees in my backyard too.

The way they stay and change in the same breath, shedding what no longer serves and trusting it will all return. The way the leaves rustle in the evening, glistening in slow motion during golden hour.

They remind me that endurance is proof of life too.

I miss the restaurants.

The way they could transport you to a different world, without requiring you to walk more than a couple blocks. The way they captured complex stories — collapsing a chef’s memory into unforgettable flavors, translating an entire culture into a single bite.

They reminded me that discovering new experiences was proof of living.

But I like the home-cooked meals with my wife too.

The way they slow the busy days down. The way they turn an ordinary day into something meaningful, with the rhythm of chopping and quiet talk, while passing each other ingredients and sneaking little bites to our dog.

They remind me that familiarity in love is proof of living too.

I miss the strangers.

The way they moved with purpose, as if every second carried weight. The way they filled the streets with noise and energy, their urgency blending into a collective heartbeat.

They reminded me that movement can connect us.

But I like the strangers in my neighborhood too.

The way they make eye contact to say “good morning” or let you turn left onto a busy road during the morning rush hour. The way they make small talk for no reason, as though their kindness is unhurried and has nothing to prove.

They remind me that presence can connect us too.

I miss my friends.

The way a a single text could turn into a spontaneous hangout or dinner plan. The way being close in miles made us feel close in life too.

They reminded me that proximity can make connection effortless.

But I like those friendships now too.

The way we still see each other even though it requires more planning. The way distance makes the time we share feel fuller, not thinner.

They remind me that intention can make connection effortless too.

I miss the version of myself I was in New York.

The way I was always reaching for something next. The way curiosity felt endless, like there was always more to see, more to do, more to become. The way the city made momentum feel like progress.

It reminded me that growth can make you feel alive.

But I like the version of myself I’m becoming now too.

The way I’m learning that growth doesn’t always need speed, sometimes it needs roots. The way my curiosity runs deeper instead of wider. The way fulfillment feels less like the next thing and more like the right thing.

It reminds me that evolution can make you feel alive too.