Autumn in New York

I had the most amazing weekend; the kind where on Sunday night as I was pulling back the comforter to crawl into bed, I almost couldn't remember everything I had done and when I really thought about, like really really thought about everything, I couldn't believe it had taken place over the course of 48 hours and not say...148. And not just because I had done my fair share of drinking in those 48 hours.

It was the kind of weekend where I was reminded why it's so much fun being a girl and so much fun having girlfriends to gossip with in the meadow at Central Park on a Saturday in October that felt more like a Saturday in July; or girlfriends to have an al fresco brunch with on a quiet street of the UES; where meeting a friend's mother and getting a peak into her childhood almost makes perfect sense; where laughs and giggles and 'remember whens' far outnumber any present matter, pressing or not; where a quick stroll through MoMa reminds me that I really should partake in more cultural activities and that even an hour's outing always make me feel so humble and grateful all at the same time; so incredibly fortunate to live in this city where, at any given moment there are 50 zillion amazingly fun things to see, to do and to love; where dinner at a new-to-me Italian restaurant makes me stop and wonder why I rely so much on the old standby favorites; where a meal shared by five friends is so much richer both in taste and price than a meal shared with myself, in front of the TV and an old episode of Jeopardy on the DVR; where a Belgium beer at 5:00 is the perfect appetizer; where the lights of the Empire State Building still make my heart smile; where another walk across the Brooklyn Bridge literally makes me stop in my tracks and smile and sigh and almost have to pinch myself to realize yes, I live here; those tall buildings I'm walking towards...that's home; where walking across the bridge shoulder-to-shoulder with my dear friend feels more like a movie than real life but at the end of the day is more real life than any movie; where the sun is in the perfect position to cast brilliant shadows and make for wonderful pictures and the sky is a color that even a master couldn't replicate; where there are no clouds, no smog, no nothing. just pure and rich blue; where watching football at a bar on the UWS while my friend steals sips of my beer during her double shift feels absolutely like home, even if most of the time, I have no idea what is going on in the game; where a friend from our kickball team stops by and together we share laughs and embarrassing stories that really belong in an issue of Cosmo; where the bus ride back across town through the park feels more like a beginning and less like an ending, like another chapter in my NY life and not the close of one; where the weekend reminds me of where I live and who I am and why, just the very reason why I am so incredibly happy and why, yes, at times, I need a reminder. We all do.

New York is incredible and has a way of doing that every now and again, of tapping you lightly on the shoulder and saying YooHoo, get off the couch and get outside; discover me; enjoy me and remember me. There will be a day when I'm 40 that I'm glad she did. Hell, I'm grateful that she did this weekend. In turn, she gives me fabulous memories. And meals. And friends. And laughter. And a life unparalleled to anything I could dream up on my own. And I am almost always entirely grateful. I have to be or the next time, she will just kick my ass instead.