On alternate weekends from Labor Day until Thanksgiving, I came to New York.
We went to the Metropolitan opera. We went to the theater. We walked the City. We rode the subway. We shopped for food. We shopped.
We went to Jean-Georges, for the most unbelievable meal of my life.
I fell in love with the City. I decided, no matter what happened with my Love, that I was coming here. If I can make it here, I can make it anywhere.
I put together my CV and interviewed engineering firms and investment funds. I got hired, at a ridiculous salary. I found a little apartment, a few blocks from my Love’s.
I finished my project out West, spent a couple of weeks with my parents and moved to New York.
And, in the midst of all that, I came out to my mother, a strict Catholic. But that’s another story.