My phone died somewhere on Clinton Street and after my 6th attempt of bopping into & shopping at local boutiques where I found nothing I liked or in my price range, my spirit was waning. So Uptown I walked. Across Houston and from Clinton we mesh into Ave B. Ah, a bit of me again. For a few of those first years in New York I lived in the East Village (7th & 2nd to be exact) and that street floods me with memories. Of living with my sweet forever pal Kate. Of first months of date nights spots with my new boyfriend (now hubby). Of how I would drive up 1st Ave from Brooklyn after work, bang a left onto 7th and pray for a street spot in front of dear old 48 ½. The laundry mat with the same teeny tiny adorable Asian couple owners is still operating at max capacity. So as I looked for lunch that day last week, I had thought I wanted something new. But I eneded up at Via Della Pace. Next door to my old, old apt. (Just now as I typed away, the super of that old apartment home of ours waved “HEY THERE!”---and we exchanged a slew of catch up life comments including my favorite from him : “Wow! You married that guy!) I ordered the lasagna and of course the romana bruschetta. And sat and took in the vibe that once was a constant day in and day out. This unnerving feeling comes over me in little pangs as I let my mind wander…and I think a similar feeling overtakes me whenever I’m in a location or city that was once my world…my early 20s still figuring it all out one. Finding my husband in this crazy city and starting our life together is when all my internal anxieties fade (falling in love will do that to you I suppose;) It is why when I lunch in Chelsea or take Morgan for cookies at Birdbath Bakery in the west village, I feel warm and happy. I feel encased in love. It feels right and authentic and the best of life abounds. It’s funny how an environment can affect you so much, right?