This town's destroyed more than one friend of mine
Funny, they never leave
They say that they are in love
Some say it's rotten, some say it's wrong
Some say it's hard to believe
And some say that they are in love
Move away, move away
Move away before it's too late
Then the lion sleeps with the lamb
Only love lets me forget who I really am
– David Byrne, “They Are In Love.” Feelings, 1997
cw: personal violence, home invasion, sexual harassment, terrorism
From a perspective of physical culture, it can be argued that New York is not an American city. A majority of residents’ habits, across income levels, revolve around public transit and taxis, not personal cars. This transforms everything from planning dates to getting your children to school, buying groceries to moving to a new home.
For Americans accustomed to life elsewhere, New York can be Too Much. People on the subway are too close to you. Touching you, even. The shelves in the bodega are also too close, as are cars and the sidewalks in the street. Your neighbors are just through the wall; you will hear them snore and fuck and scream.
The human-lit sky never darkens past an unhealthy shade of lavender or orange at night, so forget about seeing stars. Open your nostrils to the delicious smell of candied nuts from a cart one moment and you’ll be assailed by the smell of urine or hot garbage bags on the sidewalk the next. Summer humidity is oppressive, and so is winter steam heat when your super’s left the stopper fused open. The subway walls have inexplicable stains; its ceilings have mucus-like stalactites. It is always, always loud.
Stay in New York City for more than a few cycles and you will see other newcomers from less urban parts of the United States either adapt to the sensory overload, or else fail to and leave. Adaptation usually takes about three years. If you can handle it by then, you might stay forever.