Dancing Home

This weekend marked a year since that last weekend I spent in Austin before I moved. Aside from the perpetual knotted stomach, I happily remember the time I spent with family and friends: that last Shabbat, those final cocktails, and the amazing balance I maintained as I cried uncontrollably whilst maneuvering a moving truck beneath the gray clouds in the early evening of that incredibly cruel Sunday.

By some miracle, I’m still in New York one year later. This weekend, however, I’m not worrying about crossing into a new phase in life. The concern is now crossing boroughs. Ravit, a friend from college who moved to the City when I did, is getting married in Brooklyn later today. I’m worried that I’ll be exhausted for the whole event since I only just arrived home after a glamorous night downtown.

My fabulous friend Aura is also tying the knot, but not until Tuesday. In addition to planning a wedding and preparing for the start of medical school this month, the bride-to-be has devoted time to dancing, Latin and Classical mostly. This weekend, she wanted to share her love of moving to the music with her friends and family. After a relaxing Shabbat, we were dancing à la 80s.

It’s a comfort to know that your local goth bar will always supply the masses with a kitschy venue in which to dance and to scream of songs long forgotten. Back home, this place is still Elysium. To experience the City’s courageous and unique personality, the Pyramid Club is the place to be. It's a homegrown phenomenon that preserves the infamous tradition of New York counter-culture.

Honestly, the East Village is the place where memories are made. Upon sealing the deal on my first apartment in the City, I stumbled upon the CBGB benefit concert where Blondie performed for free. I partied hard at St. Mark’s the crazy night before my first date with Daniel. My first New Year’s away from Austin was spent at the Pyramid Club. When Dominique and Sarah visited, they stayed on 13^th Street and Second Avenue. This time, it was a night of new friends, old music, and late night kosher falafel and Corona.

I try never to forget that I’d be no one in New York without my fabulous former life in Austin. No one has can replace the people whom I love at home. The mark they have left on me is ineffaceable. The experiences have molded me. Moving on, however, requires new people to know us and to love us. One year later, I feel that, like the brides-to-be, I too am building a new home in a strange land. This week, I think we all, from family to friends, deserve a “mazal tov” or two.