Apart from specific people, some things I'm going to miss about New York:

• Store cats. I really hope I'm wrong about this and that L.A. also has its share of store cats.
• Buildings that are taller than trees (rather than the reverse). I like looking up at the impressively detailed old architecture, which is everywhere; even Home Depot is housed in a beautiful historic building.
• Enormously cluttered independent businesses squeezed into narrow street-level buildings. They're not especially comfortable or easy to navigate, but they're the opposite of the bland, predictable, and impersonal franchise experience. There's a shoe repair place that I go to in Brooklyn where there's only room for one customer at a time; the owner (whose uniform is a thin wifebeater) is penned in by towers of broken heels and boots. He's a magician, and can grant new life to the rattiest of shoes.
• A diverse immigrant population, and the food and culture that goes with it. Knowing that it's only a short subway ride to neighborhoods where only Russian is spoken and people wear expensive fur coats on the broken-down boardwalk.
• Walking. If time and weather weren't ever an issue, I'd walk everywhere in New York. (Also, the pace! When I'm walking with others, I tone it down, but on my own, I walk the speed that other people run.)
• Being able to navigate the grid of my city simply by being able to count.
• The lack of rules, even when they're good for you. One thing that bothers me about the U.S. in general is all the hand-holding that goes on here. I like that New York not only doesn't hold your hand, but it kind of gives your hand a little slap if you stick it out there too helplessly. It forces you to toughen up a little by putting you in situations that might be dangerous or unsanitary.
  
  

  The other night I was reading about the L.A. metro (which I'm determined to make use of, even though no one seems to give it much respect), and I noticed that passengers are given a fine if they eat or drink on the subway. I felt myself immediately bristle, not because it's not a wise law -- allowing food on the NYC subway can lead to disgusting things like gnawed and discarded food in the seats -- but because I don't want to be told what I can and can't do, even if it means sitting next to a chicken bone on my way home from work.

• The tacit space rules. Even if the city itself doesn't seem to have a lot of official regulations, there are plenty of unspoken social rules that the majority of people more or less follow: let people off the train before you get on, don't stop suddenly on the sidewalk (because someone might crash into you), don't carry a giant umbrella, take your backpack off on crowded trains, etc. -- basically, don't be a space-taker. Whenever someone fails to obey the space rules, there seems to be kind of a collective frustration among the space-conscious, as if to say, You can wear a garbage bag for a skirt or subject me to your gravelly rendition of Stand by Me, but for the love of God, don't carry a giant umbrella.
• Sidewalks full of people, and kids playing in the streets. Interacting with and being in the same space as lots of strangers. Again, this also goes back to the diverse population, but there's so much to look at just when walking down the street. Also, I like that a man dressed as, say, a baby, can walk around town without really getting ogled. Related to that: unlimited street photography subjects.
• The subway -- being able to meet friends anywhere in the city with little notice, having no need for designated drivers, being able to read on the way to work, close contact with a large mixture of people (this isn't always pleasant, of course, but it keeps you human), and (some) subway musicians.
• Riding my bike through Brooklyn. Even though it's not the greenest place to ride, I find Brooklyn fascinating to explore by bike. You can almost invisibly slip through neighborhoods and get a glimpse of other peoples' lives, as so much of it is out in the streets when the weather's nice.
• Not having a clue what current gas prices are, or makes and models of automobiles.
• Autumn and spring, and tights, scarves, and layers of clothing.
• In my neighborhood, the smell of fresh-baked bread and the sound of the prayers coming from the mosque on Fulton. Also, barbershops with immodest names like "Respect for Life."
• Humidity that brings life to my stick-straight hair.
• Coney Island, brownstones, rooftops, bagels, Fort Greene, pigeon coops and circling birds, breakdancing, inflatable union rats, snow (for the first hour), the skyline and bridges, the lonely tip of Roosevelt Island, stoops and stoop sales, fruit stands, bodegas, pizza, New York accents, block parties.

A few things I'm not going to miss:

• Oppressive city noise
• Carrying everything I need for the day on my back
• Wearing through my shoes, as well as not being able to wear even slightly uncomfortable shoes without significant pain
• The C and G trains
• Incredibly cramped restaurants/lack of personal space (People tend to be respectful of space here, but it's a drag to eat dinner on top of strangers, or to not be able to cross your legs at dinner without tripping the waitstaff.)
• Never being completely out of earshot
• Winter
• Terrorist threats
• The Brooklyn Target

I'm currently in limbo, waiting for my old life to end and my new one to begin. It's strange, being in the middle of this brief period of overlap, and knowing that it's the point in my life that I will refer to in my future as When I Left New York, as well as When I Moved to L.A. Right now is the moment after I know what's coming, but before anything actually happens.

Neither of us ever meant to live in L.A., but Todd got a job we both agreed he couldn't pass up, a job writing for Conan O'Brien. When he told me the news, I was really excited for him, of course, and I briefly wondered if it'd be relatively easy to annul our marriage, since the ink is hardly dry and all. I ultimately reconsidered, though, because, man, I really like that guy. I even miss him when he's in the bathroom.

My aversion to the move has less to do with living in L.A. and more to do with leaving New York. So many of my friends live here, I finally feel established, and this is the first place I've lived where I've been completely content, and not at all anxious for what would come next. Not everyone who lives in New York feels so sure about it -- several people I know have confessed that while they like it here, it's clear it's going to be a short-term relationship. I, on the other hand, feel like this city is my keymaster. Even when I first visited at nine years old, I thought to myself, "I need to figure out how people live here."

I'm getting used to the idea, though, and I'm starting to get excited about the permanently pleasant weather, working in an office right on the beach (my organization has an office in Santa Monica), and trading my fire escape for a balcony, or maybe even a yard. We're also planning to drive across the country, just because it feels like that's how it's done when you move out west -- we get to make the transition a slower speed, and let our anticipation build as we get closer to our new home. The trick with me is if I treat something like an adventure, I'll think I'm enjoying myself. Anyway, nothing's permanent, and I like going new places. Also, I'm open to the idea that I'll actually like it there.

It's too early to look for an apartment (although I've already done that, thoroughly!), so for the moment, I'm mostly just trying to come to terms with my soon-to-be reconfigured life, appreciate the less obvious things I'll eventually miss, and see as many of my friends as possible before I go. We only have a few weeks left.