Love quadrangle

I’m married to Melbourne...but I’m in love with London. And I’m totally having an affair with New York City.

My inaugural visit to the Big Apple had left me captivated. One glimpse and I was hooked on her glamour and verve, so much so that on the first day I was questioning whether it should have been New York I was moving to. I was interested to see whether I’d feel the same this time around.

I do. Desperately.

I don’t think I’ve ever had such an immediate connection with a city. It’s the one holiday destination where I’m content to let the attractions go and just hang out. A determined traveller, I’ve made my way across Europe according to ‘To Do’ lists and pressing schedules. But something about New York makes me a bit blasé about the must-sees and content to concentrate on just living. After two trips, I’m still to lay eyes on the Statue of Liberty (although I did see Katie Holmes with Suri, which I understand is a tourist attraction in itself).

Waking up this morning I had the dreaded realisation that it’s time to leave, again. I struggled to put my finger on exactly what it is about this place I’m addicted to. I put the question to a New Yorker. He answered, easily.

“It’s all about the energy here.”

Exactly! Of course it is. You can see that energy everywhere, manifested in the chaos of Times Square and the rush of people going about their lives. But it’s deeper (and less annoying) than that. In New York, there’s a racing pulse that underlies nearly everything. Its larger-than-life status on the world stage attracts every lifestyle, while its compactness seems to keep everyone and everything connected. I know it’s not for everyone, but I think I’m in serious danger of become a junkie.

I can see from my reflection in the laptop screen (and specifically the bags under my eyes) that the past week has been good. So good. But more significantly, it was invigorating. It’s refocused my attention on my Year of Taking Chances. New York is a city full of people taking chances. For example, I came to New York to see a friend, Eleanor, for the opening night of Limonade Tous Les Jours. The last time I saw Eleanor on stage was when I was a production manager for her theatre company back in Australia. Five years and a scholarship to the New School for Drama later, Eleanor is now a consummate professional, on the verge of great things I’m sure.

Because she took a chance. A huge one. Moving to the other side of the world to pursue a career in acting could be viewed as a little foolhardy. But Eleanor is doing something that she loves and it’s starting to pay off. And frankly, I’m a little jealous.

While there are undoubtedly people like Eleanor and opportunities like New York’s in every city across the world, sometimes you need to take yourself out of your routine to recognise them. Now that I have, I’m determined to return to London and seek out a few more chances myself.

To be clear, I don’t think I’ve made the wrong decision in choosing London. London is serving me well. Very well. My week in New York has simply made me realise I’m torn between loves. Not that this is such a terrible thing - if there comes a time when I do leave London, I have my other woman to fall back on. And in the meantime, at just seven hours a flight (a blink of an eye to an Australian) the two cities work together nicely.

I still love London. And my vows to Melbourne will never be broken. I’m determined that this is one quadrangle I can make work.


While there was too much fun and frivolity to describe here, one experience was particularly Sex and the City.

I was lucky enough to win a session with a NY Personal Stylist (!) - someone who takes you shopping and tells you what works…and what you should never have been caught dead in all those years. While that sounds like a nightmare to many I’m sure, I went into it thinking it would be a hilarious experience if nothing else. One more thing I could tick off.

Deciding what to wear when you know you are ultimately going to be judged is not the easiest thing in the world. This was made that much worse by having a big night the evening before and waking up on a couch in a random hotel room, with said stylist calling to say he wanted to meet in an hour. (In my defense, drinks in New York are served with a ridiculous amount of vodka.) Being dishevelled, and possibly still a little tipsy, was not the New York fabulousness I was going for.

But still, the indulgence was fun. George, the stylist, was very gentle with me and knew his stuff. He worked fast and before I knew it had me handing over a large portion of my salary on clothes I may never have the confidence to wear again.

Maybe I should stay away from New York.