Winter in NYC

Sometimes I feel bogged down by weight of the cold weather. The shorter days and the waning light make me feel there are cobwebs in my brain that I can’t seem to clear out.

Around this time every year, I ask myself why I live in this city when the winter makes me feel so weary. Conversations with friends naturally drift toward the idea of moving to California, and I dream of running away anywhere with a steady dose of sun.

And yet, something keeps me here. Maybe it’s the fear that running away won’t really shake out the cobwebs, but mostly, I blame it on the art. It’s the reason I’ve lived in NYC for over 15 years, and the one thing that, for me, makes living here worth all that you give up along the way.

When the temperatures are at their lowest, the NYC art scene is at its best. Just this past week, I attended a play about refugees in France, a dance performance by a Cuban flamenco artist, an art fair featuring self-taught artists, a curator talk about Epic Abstraction, and a concert by a phenomenal singer, songwriter and saxophonist.

I am grateful to live in a place where I am able to experience so many forms of creativity and such a wealth of different art any night of the week. I am appreciative of the art scene which beckons me out of my home and warms my heart, even when the temperatures drop below zero.

I feel lucky to have discovered the wealth of cultural opportunities that exist in this city, and even more grateful for knowing people with whom to share them.