Mourning Nora Ephron’s New York

I lived in New York City for a decade and left it a year ago. Seeing it now on screen, rather than in person, makes me ponder my thoughts on what it was, what it’s become, why I loved it, and why I left.

Where everyone wants what she’s having. Katz’ Deli, image courtesy Imogene Huxton, labeled for reuse.

A funny thing has been happening to me since I moved from New York City: I can barely stand to watch movies set there. Three things happen simultaneously: I squint at the screen to see if I recognize the location, I marvel at how unrealistically clean and tidy it looks, and then my heartstrings strain like grimy subway tracks under the weight of rush hour trains.

Ten years in New York ingrained the city into me, not just in appearance and habits, but in its feel, its pulse, even its air, practically marbled with car exhaust and pollution. I knew St. Mark’s Place when it was edgy. I lived in Queens when it was laughably uncool. I biked through Williamsburg when it was still sketchy.

To see my old city on a screen is like seeing a family member or dear friend on a screen: you know the lines of the face and the body language, but it’s a strange phenomenon to see those familiar attributes regurgitated and displayed for strangers. It’s puzzling and bittersweet to see ten years’ worth of routes, routines and storefronts projected to those whose own feet and eyes didn’t dart around them.