P.S. I just read this to my parents, the memory fact-checkers. They said my school was more like eight neighborhoods away, not three—a fifty-minute subway ride each way for three hours of overpriced preschool (it cost more than both of their college tuitions put together). And apparently my young self had projected the loving gay couple of Christmas tree sellers; they were actually two straight friends supporting their far-away families.
Faulty memory aside, hands down the best part of my return to New York was meeting a group of new (or mostly new) New Yorkers brought together by a shared purpose. On this trip, the city itself wasn’t the attraction. It was having the chance to learn alongside brilliant people who are truly excellent at what they do and who don’t begrudge hard work. And who are hilarious.