Return to the urban lifestyle

I snuck into New York City this past weekend.

While I was there, I was reminded of a strange thing that always happens whenever I return to a big city.

Initially, I'm convinced that I'm going to get mugged, and I have a hard time understanding why anyone would live in a place without grass. Slowly, though, I get back into the routine: I start walking with my head down, not making eye contact so as to not freak out the locals.

I also start to regard the buildings, the people, and even the garbage cans as more-than-acceptable replacements for green grass. When you live in a city, beauty takes on new forms: the differences between the brownstones, your favorite peek-in living rooms on the walk home, and the set-in-the-sidewalk trees that reliably bud every spring.

Then everything floods back.

Suddenly, you remember that you don't have to think twice about where you should eat for dinner: everything is going to be good. You recall that driving is something that you do solely for recreation or during your monthly trip to the price club. And, finally, you remember that you're not alone: everyone is in this together.

And then, it's over just as quickly as it started: you arrive at the airport, get back in your car, and drive to your home under the cottonwoods.

Now, where should we go for dinner?