I went from a commune–a house with anywhere from 20-25 people, where I shared a room with four girls–to a college dorm with a roommate and dozens of women close by, to roommates in a teensy city apartment, to living with my partner.

When my husband is out of town I don’t sleep. I don’t mean I have trouble sleeping, I mean I lose hours and hours of sleep.

On the first night we slept in our current apartment it became clear that we could hear everything from our downstairs neighbors. A cough, a sneeze, the telephone ringing. My husband very nearly cried. He was sure we would have to move immediately. I loved it. Noise. People sounds–all the time. It felt comforting. It felt like home.

The thing I love about New York is that you can feel like you’re in a giant community, surrounded by people–but, still be all alone. If I scream, I will be heard. If I’m in trouble, there will be help. But, I’m also anonymous and invisible. Alone with my thoughts, separate and individual.

The thing I was always so terrified of in the country was that sense of being all alone. Helpless and vulnerable. No one for miles. Just darkness and woods.

In the city, you almost never get that feeling. There is something so comforting about the 4am bar closing. It means people are out and about until the wee hours of the morning. You can ride the subway at 3am and it’s really not as sketchy as you might think. It’s still super crowded at midnight and even 1am can sometimes feel like rush hour heading into the city.

In 2005, we moved to Astoria, a crummy little apartment off of 30th avenue. We thought we were moving to this quaint little “suburb” borough of NYC but as it turns out, Astoria has it’s very own vibrant nightlife. It’s no East Village, in terms of ambience, but I might go so far as to say it’s more raucous and possibly more populated on any given warm, summer evening.

The sidewalk cafe’s turn into bars, the restuaruants all open their windows and spill onto the street–there is a legitimate and bourgeoning “Euro-scene” there. People come from Jersey, Connecticut, Philly and (gasp!) Manhattan even, to hang out in these places that feel a whole lot like the cafes of Europe. There really isn’t a Manhattan equivalent. All the restaurants are Greek or Italian, and let me tell you about the quality of seating you get if you speak neither Greek nor Italian. It’s a real bummer and the hosts have no problem being totally upfront about it. “You speak Greek? No? Okay. You wait.” The food is well worth the hour and a half delay. Especially since they bring trays of wine around to the dozens of loiterers waiting for tables. It’s a brilliant plan. You’ve already started on the wine, you’re tipsy by the time you sit down. You order way more than you can eat and, obviously, you have to have another carafe of the house white!

You can spot the regulars from a  block away. They walk, arm in arm, not a care in the world, strolling down the street. They breeze right in, kiss the waiters, grab glasses of wine, smile and are whisked off to their table. Eating at the Greek restaurants in Astoria is a little like showing up to a family reunion that isn’t your family. “Oops. I think perhaps my kin are in the hotel next door. But, what the hell. You’re food looks way better. I think I’ll stay.”

When we first moved to Park Slope I was actually kind of freaked out by the neighborhood. I mean, all those babies and dogs?! Well, actually that did kind of freak me out. But, really it was the dark, vacant streets. Seriously, this neighborhood is shut down by 9pm, even on a Saturday. And, unlike a lot of other parts of the city, the residential streets are really separate from the commercial zones so those sidewalks are particularly empty. It took me quite a few months to stop looking behind me every half a block, nervous I was being followed. Now, I laugh out loud thinking about my initial fear of this bourgeois hood.

I guess what I am trying to say is that the thing that a lot of people complain about–cramped living quarters, folks stacked on top of one another, busy streets, crowded sidewalks–those are the things that most endear New York to me. Those are the things that I would miss most. That feeling of closeness and family and belonging amongst strangers. The incredible ability to be both alone but never alone.