New York in Spring.

I have walked these streets as so many different versions of myself. Being back here on my own for the first time in probably a decade is a remarkable reminder of all the women I’ve been over the course of my relatively short and abundantly rich life. I am flooded with memories from high school, college and graduate school — tearing through these streets fuelled by rebellion and dreams; of early sobriety, getting to know New York in a completely new way, filled to the brim with awe and gratitude; of the thousands of times I’ve strolled these streets with family and loved ones, sharing this town with the same people with whom I share the deepest corners of my heart; and now as a wife and mother and women in the middle years of her life. So infrequently alone, the solitude a refreshing balm and, at the same time, my heart aching from the distance between us. All these memories and so much gratitude welling in my heart and eyes. After all, nothing quite compares to New York City on a perfect spring day.