I tell myself it’s a waste of time to miss New York.

“Except for maybe bagels,” I say over a non-bagel breakfast to my husband.

Plus we got married in a Brooklyn book store. They always have the greatest authors visit there. Or the Manhattan book store where we had our second date. Of course that one is closing. What am I missing?

I don’t miss the subways. They have public transit in Seattle, too, but I have chosen to only go to places I can walk to (a privilege that was not feasible in New York). Those dirty, sweaty, creepy New York subways.

But what about that feeling of climbing the third flight of subway stairs out into the brisk cold of the city, on the way to Lincoln Center?

Or everything being a little old, a little broken? The dirty concrete. Surely I can live without those. And the air is certainly cleaner in Seattle.

I didn’t get to see Lion King on Broadway (no money). I didn’t get to go to Union Square for the Christmas Market (I’d moved). But what does that matter? Lion King will probably be open forever! And I live right by a better market that is open year round!

Is it me, or are the buildings not as tall? I used to wish I could see more sky. Now I see the sky… but it’s usually gray.

“This is a small town,” my husband says.

“It’s not a small town,” I say.