After you've lived in New York City for a long enough period of time, you start to notice patterns. Most recently, I've felt a big change on the horizon - with September 11 behind us, life was returning to normal (or at least as normal as life gets in NYC, which is technically not very normal.) I have a loyal network of friends with whom I do everything from taking yoga classes to setting personal goals to bar hopping. In the six plus years I've called this city my home, I've formed a new family. Since most people I've gravitated towards here have put off marriage and having children, we find that in our friends we have found the warmth and camaraderie that the majority of people our age in this country find through more traditional venues. I have a carefully chosen network of only the best people in my life -- it's my second family. Alas, as happens with traditional families, sometimes people move away. In 2002 I find myself in the same exact position in which I found myself in 1998 -- some of the most special members of my family are leaving NYC.

In the fall of 1998 I was experiencing an overwhelming onslaught of change -- I resigned from my position at a traditional market research company to take the plunge into uncharted internet territory. I was also moving from 106th Street to 83rd Street in one of the most hurried and stressful moves of my life (the market was so awful that we ended up in an apartment in which my bedroom had no windows -- that's what $2400 a month could get you in 1998.) My father was undergoing a rigorous yet life-saving bone marrow transplant in Seattle. To top it all off, in a time when I needed support and felt like everything around me was changing, several of my best friends left town, the most upsetting of which was my friend Shevaun.

Shev, a native Brit, had arrived in NYC only a month after me in the summer of 1996. Together we had navigated the city and its nightlife with the curious nature of new world explorers who didn't require sleep. I adopted her Anglo-isms, she adopted my assertive capacity to return a sub-par entree. Her departure was my first taste of how transient this city really is -- no one, it appears, lives here forever. In fact, since most people come to New York expecting to stay a year or two or the most three (myself included), it's quite remarkable that I've befriended people who are in their fourth, fifth, sixth year or more here. In fact, I have friends in New York who left and came back-- the ultimate windfall.

Now I find that the itch has started again. My roommate Aaron, my best friend from home Jayme, and my partner in crime and contributor to this website Jen, are all heading west over the next couple of months. Arizona calls Jayme, San Francisco beckons Aaron, and LA seduces Jen. Although the promise of larger apartments, less expensive rent, and access to ocean and mountains sounds amazing to me, I realize that it's not my time to go. So yet again, I am left holding the I Heart NY bag, empty from the imminent departure of so many wonderful people who I am lucky to call friends.

Now here's the weirdest part of all - I'm happy for them, a lot more happy than I am sad that I won't be seeing them anymore. Has New York hardened me to the point that the departure of friends is no longer shocking or saddening? Or is this merely the downside to having "second families" - that just as we left the nest and require airplanes to visit our parents and siblings, we will someday need them for our second families too? Whatever the case, I know that they will be happy in their new homes, as I am happy here, and that with each person who comes in and out of this city and moves on, I get a great place to visit when I miss them.

Who knows, maybe by 2006 I'll actually be ready to join them.