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.