I moved to New York City on June 1, 2016, on a sweltering hot day. I'd come with no job, two suitcases mostly stuffed with clothes and determination to make my dream work, no matter what. I wish I could go back and hug that bright-eyed 22-year old and tell her to soak up every moment in the city that would become her home for the next decade.
Living in New York had never been the plan, but I'd landed an internship working as a closet intern the summer between my junior and senior years of college. I went from never even visiting New York to living there, finding myself the star of a quintessential 2000s movie plotline of a small town girl working in fashion. That summer I fell hopelessly in love with New York City. In reading the journals I kept, I wrote a lot about finally feeling like I belonged. New York was for the people who marched to the beat of their own drum. Who made their dreams happen. That didn't care what anyone thought of them. Classmates had always longingly shared their dreams of moving to the city after graduation, but up until that summer it wasn't something I saw for myself. My internship ended, summer came to a close and all I could think was "how the hell do I get back to New York?"
After moving back to Ohio to finish my senior year of college, I obsessively saved and counted down the days until I could get back after graduation. My dream consumed me and kept me up late at night. What if I didn't save enough? What if I couldn't find a job? What if I had to move back to Ohio with my tail between my legs, embarrassed? In the months, weeks and days leading up to my move I was wrecked with anxiety and all of the "what ifs" that come with such a huge risk. Looking back, I have a lot of admiration for myself. If you asked me today to move to a new city without a job and few thousand dollars to my name, I don't think I would do it. But at the time? I was determined.
I was simultaneously the most happy and depressed I've ever been. Every day I went through a rollercoaster of emotions trying to figure out how to exist in my new life. I had to let go of who I was and the beliefs I'd held my entire life. It was a painful transformation, but a necessary one.
That first year I had no fucking idea what I was doing. I was lonely and broke and scared. But I also knew that I never felt more alive than I did living in New York. It was important to me, I finally felt like I belonged somewhere. That alone was worth all of the struggle.
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Everything felt serendipitous. Whether it actually was or I was just a 20 something living on her own for the first time, I'm not sure. Whatever it was, I lived with determination to appreciate every day because I really was the luckiest person to live in New York City.
Slowly, I made friends. Became more confident. Landed better jobs. Found my go-to thrift spots. Knew which direction to take the subway. Started making (a little) more money to go out and experience New York. I settled into a life that was far better than anything I could have dreamed for myself. Time passed quickly: 1, 2, 3, 4, and then 5 years living here.
I'd put a lot of energy into figuring out how to get to New York and a hell of a lot time figuring out how to stay. So it was odd when the thought slid into my mind one day about how long I wanted to live here.
At that point, my parents had stopped asking me when I was going to move back home and accepted it wasn't going to be any time soon. Trading my Ohio license for New York felt symbolic. I really wasn't going anywhere anytime soon.
My plan since graduating had always been New York. I hadn't thought any further than that. And why would I? New York was my home, full stop. I was living my version of "making it" with my own small (but all mine) studio apartment, a job in fashion and a vibrant social life. It was odd to have this thought enter my mind about leaving, right when I had everything 21 year old me could have wanted.
I remember tabling the thought and convincing myself it was something future me would worry about. I didn't speak about it to anyone. I didn't want to admit to myself the desire was real and confirmed I was changing. Things I was once so sure about, I wasn't anymore.
New York was different post-Covid and so was I. That giddy, kicking-your-heels-together excitement I'd once felt about, well, everything, I didn't feel quite as much. It would still hit me in waves. I think about the moments in Fort Greene park on achingly beautiful summer nights where there is a slight breeze and you're surrounded by people laughing, kissing and reading. I still felt it in moments of sinking my teeth into the perfect croissant on a Saturday morning as children flew by me on scooters, exasperated parents trailing not too far behind. It was sitting at an outdoor bistro table laughing over a bottle of lukewarm rosé with a friend until the waiter interrupts sheepishly to tell us they're closing in 10 minutes. It was felt in the smallest of moments. Blink and you might miss them. The magic of a bachata ballad floating in the air from somewhere, a stranger catching the subway door so someone else can squeeze on, the smell of every culture and cuisine as you walk down a single street.
I couldn't imagine myself leaving.
I also didn't want to admit to myself I was curious about what life looked like elsewhere. What would it be like to have a backyard where I could keep a garden? How amazing would it be to see my parents and sister whenever I wanted? What if I didn't have to work for a soul-crushing company because I needed to pay my rent?
The more I thought about it, the more it made sense to be open to the idea of moving. The city had worn on me, but I resisted what was obvious. The idea of moving from New York was an admission of unhappiness with my life. That was difficult to come to terms with. It was a constant back-and-forth struggle of my brain fighting with my heart.
In 2022 my grandmother passed away. The call to come home became louder. I was incredibly close with my grandma and realized too little too late I'd lost precious time I could never get back. Moving away may have been my decision, but its impact reached far beyond me.
During the pandemic I'd spent a month at home and reconnected with an old friend who had been a romantic interest on and off through the years. Off became very on, and we dated long distance from New York to Ohio for two years. Finally in 2023, C moved to New York. Seeing the city through C's eyes reinvigorated my love for New York. I think I would have moved much sooner if it hadn't been for him. He reminded me of all the good still left here.
New York has held some of our most beautiful alongside some of the most heartbreaking moments. I loved C before, but building a life together in New York deepened my love beyond what I thought possible. We navigated the worst jobs of our careers, an epilepsy diagnosis for Benji, Tito's declining health and eventual passing and always a mounting cost of living.
I was tired. We were tired.
I finally, honestly admitted to myself that New York wasn't my dream anymore. The things that had once been so important to me at 22 (climbing the corporate ladder! being seen! being cool! having it all!) no longer resonated with me at 32. We made the decision that June 2025 would be our last lease renewal.
Today, June 1, 2026 marks a decade living in New York City. This June also marks the closing of this chapter and a new one beginning again in Ohio. I've known this truth in my heart for a long time. It's time to let go.
I have been writing this post for over two months. I'm anxious to hit publish and put this out for people to read and dissect. I'm fearful my writing isn't strong enough to articulate how I feel.
I've re-written these words many times because it feels impossible to capture the complexity and difficulty of this decision. I feel ready and yet I don't. How can you ever truly feel confident leaving New York?
I feel sadness and grief, regret and disappointment alongside happiness and excitement, relief and gratitude.
Change is scary but beautiful. I know this next month will hold many emotions and feelings as I wind down one chapter and begin the messiness of the next. I don't have a plan. Just the feeling of hope and promise that anything is possible, a feeling that once brought me to New York, and a that cycle begins again. ❤️
With much love,
Lauren
