Wayfaring Stranger

Something strange happened to me when I came back from studying abroad almost a year ago. I only became more restless. I've never been content to sit around, and I've always been ready to leave for anywhere at a moment's notice. Shpilkes, my grandmother calls it. Ants in your pants. And yet I've always considered myself a die-hard New Yorker, even during those years in New Jersey, I always thought of New York as the only worthy place to live. But in these last few months, I've begun to wonder what else might be out there. I've begun to wonder if I might not really be happy elsewhere. My father, having spent a considerable amount of time in the Midwest, would tell me growing up that I had no idea what the "real" America was like, that New York was an anomaly existing in its own universe. Maybe America isn't like that New Yorker cover.
Maybe there's more than rocks out there.
I think it might have happened when a friend came to visit this past fall. She had never been to New York before, and the sight of the Empire State Building literally stopped her in her tracks. I couldn't quite understand her reaction. I've become a little inured to what makes New York so great.
New York has a lot of cons, and I've become a bit jaded to her pros. In the past six months, I've had several friends leave New York, and at first I was at a loss. Where do people go when they leave New York, I wondered. Doesn't any other place pale in comparison to New York? Aren't they bored? But maybe I've become a little bored.