I have something to share which shames me to admit.  My fear is that this will not only reflect poorly on my childhood aptitude and my sterling reputation for discernment as an adult, it may also offend my new friends.  Specifically, those from New York.

Perhaps I can make it up to them when I blog about the conference.  Until then, I beg their forbearance.

You see, I never wanted to visit New York.  Nope, not at all.  I’ve never openly admitted this.  I’ve even gone so far as to pretend enthusiasm.  But in reality, I was much too prejudiced against the place to ever give it a chance.  Whenever my husband came back from a visit and bemoaned the plain-jane faire of DC’s street vendors, or friends thrilled at the chance of a weekend in the city without sleep, I smiled banally and mentally turned my nose to the sky.  I planned trips to every other spot on and off the planet, but until the SCBWI winter conference this last weekend, none to New York.

It’s not my fault.  I was misguided as a child!

The desperate cry of every hardened criminal and cornered politician, and now my plea for sympathy.  But, it’s also quite true!  Whenever someone waxed eloquent on the titilating virtues of New York, a little ditty ran through my head.  I picked it up as a child in some dark hole of a sunny neighborhood, and it went something like this:

New York, New York

is a dirty rotten place

where bums and idiots go.

As you can see, it was a musical masterpiece even Mozart would be proud of.  When sung in an annoying little voice with a superior tone, it was almost enough to make one believe that Nowhere, USA was so inherently superior to NYC that those who chose the latter were to be pitied.  Never envied.  No, no, of course not.

Imagine, then, my surprise at finding that I love New York!  I even heart it.  And not just the obvious things–the lovely memorial being built at ground zero, the one-of-a-kind shopping, the to-die-for food.  No.  I love the traffic.  I have never felt so self-actualized as the moment I realized I could use my car’s horn to say all those things a car says most eloquently when someone stops mid-street.  I could zoom through the little gap left between a bus and a truck without danger of offending my fellow drivers.  I could nudge into the constant flow of pedestrians without earning myself any nasty looks.  I could even ‘overlook’ the lines on the street and use the entire road, as it should be used.  In fact, I could drive exactly as I’ve always wanted!

Driving in DC taught me to long for the streets of New York–and now I’ve finally experienced the fulfillment of that nebulous desire.  After a round or two with the taxis in the financial district on a Friday afternoon, I felt a glow of joy that no amount of putt-putting in rural North Carolina will ever extinguish.  I have found my driving soulmates, and fought a good fight.  I have purged prejudice from my soul.

All is well.

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