I fell down a hole and came out in Brooklyn

I hated Brooklyn the moment I arrived. Then it grew on me. The people were interesting. The traffic wasn’t. Finding a parking spot was the highlight of my day. Trips into Manhattan felt like a luxury, with all its sidewalks. I longed for the Gap, and a grocery store, across the river. Living in Brooklyn was akin to becoming a parent: Nothing prepares you.

I began to find small moments of Brooklyn happiness. The corner shop with $1 coffee. They also sold the New York TImes and golden Oreos in a single sleeve box. Life was meant to be lived for the moment, and by the meal. Grocery shopping remain banished to the annals of my yesteryears.

I missed London. I missed my house. I missed the Underground map. I forgot about all the bills and things I hated about home ownership. I forgot about driving on the left side of the road. I closed my eyes and paid my rent. I called my landlord when the refrigerator broke down; I smiled when the repair bill was not my responsibility.

Slowly time passed. In the chaos a routine began to develop. I moved to Downtown Brooklyn and a partial view of the Brooklyn Bridge. A building came down next door and my view expanded. Then the carcass of a new building shot up and the bridge disappeared. The sidewalk remained closed.

People took on new meaning. I developed relationships. The corner shop guy and a fellow parent at my son’s bus stop filled my mornings. I joined a running group. I thought about working. My ex-boyfriend arrived from England. Like golden Oreos, my appreciation for people grew.

Four years have passed since I landed in Brooklyn. I’ve not risen above Brooklyn so much as Brooklyn has absorbed me: From its gritty gutters I walk alone and share my day with the world.