Manhattan Days

So, it's been six months since I moved back to NYC after 19 years away. In a sense it's what I expected. I've always had a love/hate relationship with the city, whereas I've had like/like relationships with every other place I've lived. My home -- I don't think I've blogged about my home, have I? -- is in Brooklyn, Prospect Heights on the border of Crown Heights. My office is right in Midtown Manhattan -- 7th Avenue between 29th and 30th.

Midtown will show you everything in seconds — races, cultures, wealth, poverty, tragedy, comedy, success, and failure pack every corner you walk along. I'm fairly vulnerable to tragedy, due to an uncontrollable empathy streak. I'm also pretty vulnerable to success, due to a highly critical streak that always makes me feel not quite good enough even when I'm more than good enough.

So, to Manhattan. Every day I see affluence to which I can't even aspire and tragedy to which I'm afraid to even comprehend. When I talk about affluence, I'm not talking about wealth, but rather extreme wealth, what some would call obscene wealth. I tend to avoid the term "obscene," because I don't believe large quantities of money are obscene but rather that obscene people sometimes have large quantities of money. (In other words, I blame people for their behavior.) The sad thing about Manhattan is that it caters to the wealthiest. My neighborhood in Brooklyn was pretty poverty stricken a decade back. Once middle class people -- those of us who do well but aren't wealthy -- found we couldn't get more than a shoebox in Manhattan we moved to Carrol Gardens and Park Slope. When those places became trendy (and pricey) we moved to my neighborhood. Today, this neighborhood still has some grit. Mark my words: In five years from now, this neighborhood will be a wealthy one — one that I'll only be able to afford if my income continues to climb. And the working class families and the immigrant families — they'll get pushed deeper into the burrows.

My insecurity streak has an Achilles heal for affluence. Manhattan has developed an economy around the ultra wealthy, and passing through it on a daily basis can  leave me feeling like I haven't accomplished enough. Not that I want everything, but the fact that I can't afford it makes me feel like I'm not good enough. I catch myself fantasizing about wealth and huge Manhattan condos and elite businesses, and it's like looking at someone who isn't myself. And then I walk another block, and pass five homeless people who not only look hungry but look like they haven't seen a shower in weeks. These are the people who can't afford the crazy rent even in the outer burrows. They're the people who are worse off then those who have to go so far out into the boroughs that it can take them hours to get to their job by public transit. (Subways are great if you're in Manhattan or coming into Manhattan from the inner boroughs, but keep going out and you won't believe how little there is.) Then you see the elderly people who don't have the Manhattan condos or cab fare, but who struggle up and down subway stares. If you don't live here, you may not be aware that some 1 in 20 stops are truly handicapped accessible. Getting on a train can mean going down one steep flight of stares through a tunnel and up another steep flight of stares. Try this when you're old and carrying your groceries.

Manhattan leaves me with plenty of "But for the Grace of God" moments. And what blows my mind is that I'm yet to hear handicapped accessibility or (truly) affordable housing addressed as major city or state issues. Homelessness is addressed in one major way: keeping them hidden.

As for me, well, I'm not too good at passing a panhandler without dropping a dollar. And never before in my life have I felt so incredibly blessed to have a nice home, a good job, and plenty to eat, yet still felt like I'm not doing well enough. And maybe if I'd never left here, this would still seem normal. I don't know. But sometimes it takes leaving to see home with fresh eyes.