Dear Diary- New York is not the same

A sold out book tour, Times Square billboards, and rediscovering the city I once escaped to- now with fresh eyes and a full heart.

Dear Diary,

New York City feels completely different.

We visited for 10 days this time. ‘We’. How strange.

I’ve always visited NYC solo, visiting friends but mostly navigating the city on my own. I’d get to decide what every day looked like and go with the spontaneity of the city. The city has a kind of magic, an energy, that wraps you up and takes you away if you let it. I was always ready to say yes.

I remember my whole body shaking when I got the subway for the first time, just a shy girl in her early 20’s trying to live out her SATC dream. I found friends quickly and fastened myself to them- a group of Bushwick girls who took me under their wing and into all of the dirtiest, darkest dive bars Brooklyn could offer. We drank pickle juice and alcohol, eating fat, greasy slices of pizza after dancing and giggling all night. I found myself on rooftops at sunrise listening to the sounds of the city, contemplating whether it was time to go to bed. I felt so proud of myself for being brave enough to exist on my own in such a loud, smelly, wonderful city.

I returned to NYC many more times (too many). Each time catching up with the same old friends, and it became a familiar routine. I usually crashed on someones couch or in an Air Bnb, I never had much money but I always had enough to get me to NYC for a week or two. It seemed like a priority, something good for my health.

During the lonelier years, I needed to feel the NYC magic even more often. I remember getting home from a trip one year, dumping my bags and feeling anxious about my life, and promptly booking flights to return 6 weeks later. It was my place to go when I wanted to feel empowered and successful. If I was in NYC, I couldn’t be doing too bad. I belonged there, I had friends there and an exciting life. I could escape.

One year the magic stopped working.

I was at the end of a 3 year stint living in London. I was feeling down about my visa ending, so I took my usual medicine: a solo trip to NYC. It had been a while, I was in a whole new chapter of my life now, but surely the old magic would still work?

I was a photographer at the time, and did a few photoshoots to keep me busy while I was there, but NYC didn’t quite open up to me the way it always did. My friends were busy, the city was barely recovered from COVID and I found that my woes were still very much with me. I tried to force it, tried to feel the magic again. Maybe I had seen too much of the world at this point, or maybe the city was dead. All that was left for me was to go home to Australia, and stop trying to use travel as an escape. I told myself I would stop visiting after that.

Fast forward a few years and I have a book deal, a thriving little creative business at home in Australia, I’ve met my love Jordan and feel more grateful than ever. The whole time I was writing my first book I kept visualising what I thought a successful debut book would look like to me: inspiring thousands, a line down the street for the book launch, readers meeting eachother and forming a community, and for some reason: New York City.

The city kept flashing in my mind once again, and I tentatively asked the universe for a book tour that would take me back to my favourite city.