Four months later, it still happens.

Sometimes it’s when I’m leaving the office for the night, and I’m surrounded by skyscrapers gleaming against an early evening sky. Or taking a cab across the Williamsburg Bridge.

But more mundane moments do it too. Like riding the subway…

Or noticing my coffee cup’s Brooklyn, NY stamp.

Or looking up at the light-up sign showing the subway’s east-west progress.

That’s when it hits me: I live here. I’m not visiting.

New York City is home again.