I like to say I live on an island. Partially because it conjures up interest and excitement, living on an island is exotic, not everyone can say they live on an island. And well, I do live on an island. I have lived on the great island of Manhattan for the last five years. My time of island dwelling is rapidly coming to an end, at least for now. I am about to cross a bridge to the mainland. I am about to lose the cool factor of living on an island. I am leaving my island for…Brooklyn.
I have mixed feelings about leaving my island. Yes, “my” island. I was born on this island, that should make it mine, at least in part. I know I share it with, according to the Census Bureau, 1,601,948 other human beings. Still, the only child in me, while able to share, likes to think of everything as “mine.” I am leaving my home, my island. Thoughts of moving to Brooklyn have been dancing through my brain for a couple of years now. More space. More trees. More quiet. Coffee shops with outdoor seating providing more than a view of morning rush hour traffic. The allure has been there, but the pull of staying in Manhattan just remained stronger.
Then, without much thought I started apartment hunting in Brooklyn. I found an apartment I loved. I started filling out change of address forms when it truly hit me. Suddenly, my city was no longer New York. My city is about to be Brooklyn. It feels like a whole other world. I am leaving my city. I am leaving my island. I will have more space, friends within walking distance, and a new neighborhood that I am quite certain I will learn to love. Yet, I will be living in a new city. I will no longer be an island dweller. I’m still not sure how I feel about this big change.