Can I Call Myself A Brooklynite?

I spent a lot of my first month in Brooklyn missing Manhattan. I missed my old neighborhood. I missed the familiarity of what I came across while walking through my old neighborhood. I missed my grocery stores, my pizza place, my bagel shop, the stores, the ridiculously large Duane Reade that they were always redesigning so I could never find anything and the fact that it was perpetually out of toilet paper. I had gotten comfortable. In Brooklyn I felt like a fish out of water. I felt like I had moved to a foreign country. They spoke the same language, well most of them anyway, used the same currency, and seemed to have similar customs, for the most part, but it was not home.

Today I found myself truly starting to fall in love with my neighborhood in Brooklyn. I spent large chunks of time wondering around the quiet tree lined, brownstone blocks. I soaked in the diverse faces I came across. My old neighborhood was pretty pathetically homogenous. I walked by coffee shops, restaurants, and stores and felt genuine excitement at the thought of wondering back to those places to fully check them out in the weeks to come. I didn’t feel like a fish out of water. I felt at ease. I felt completely content. There are definitely still things I miss about my old neighborhood, I probably always will, but my new neighborhood finally feels like home.

* Note new addition to What I’m Cooking page (you don’t want to overlook this one).

About djunapassman

I teach yoga, write, and edit. I live in a Brooklyn neighborhood that is changing faster than I can, or care to, keep up with. Manhattan still beckons me to her island a few subways stops away, reminding me of when I lived amongst her daily hustle and bustle.
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