The Power of a New York State of Mind
I’ll always long for the alleyways and boulevards of my youth
As I write these words, it’s snowing in New York.
It doesn’t snow here where I am, at the tail end of the West Indies. In Puerto Rico, the place where the Caribbean sea sidles up to a pounding Atlantic, my winters can barely be called winters at all.
Instead of bitter chill, I awake most mornings to zephyr-like breezes. The trade winds at play off the coast. Palms dance beneath the fat yellow sun, less relentless than in summer but still bringing sweat to my brow. And in the distance, just over the arcing road that leads to town, the sea stretches to the horizon, its salt mist aroma coaxing the body toward perennially warm waters.
Most people would be mad to call this island anything less than paradise, let alone entertain the thought of trading 80-degree temps for sub-zero wind chills. And yet, as my inbox piles up with photos of streets blanketed white, I still long for the cold. I long for the alleyways and boulevards of my youth.
It’s easy to love New York City in summer. Streetside restaurants and cafés spill onto the sidewalks, parks become havens for free music and dancing, and it seems like everyone fills their cups from some never-ending fountain of cocktails. It is…
