By the time we surfaced out of the tunnel and eased into New York City itself, it was 3:30am. Despite ten thousand returns, the first sight of all those vertical towers jutting overhead, so high they seemed to converge, still made for a sharp intake of breath. Having grown up in a restless family, that was always in motion, New York City was the one place in which I had been most grounded, or to use a phrase I just found in a critique of A la Recherche du temps perdu ; "vegetated".
It's been almost three decades of living within New York City's scale and sprawl, drive and energy. More than any where else, it was what had shaped me. I was back for meetings and not much else, not in this my dedicated state of rootlessness, but this morning, this return had a strange tincture. Was it nostalgia?