On a warm night, with a balmy breeze and a full moon above the
electric stars of the skyline across the East River and the smell
of burnt sugar coming from the Domino Sugar Factory and the sound
of music coming from roof tops, it was possible to believe that
you had dreamed this place into existence.
In present day Williamsburg, Domseys went out of business, never
to return. The faded glory of The Commodore faded out completely.
To see even a bad movie, we have to pay full price and go into
the city. The Williamsburg Bridge bike path was rebuilt and then
rebuilt again, even though these days it is patrolled regularly
by police in those mini-police mobiles, it only remained graffiti
free for about five minutes. Flashy bars have stolen a little
of the thunder from loft and roof parties. Boutique clothing stores
have relieved us of the necessity of cutting and sewing our old
clothes into something new for the next season. Rice and beans
have been surpassed by pan seared duckling with fresh plum confit.
Coffee is fresh ground, organic flown in from South Africa. Beer
is sulfite free wine. One gallery became one on every corner.
Yellow cabs abound.
When I moved to New York, ten years ago I was seeking change.
I moved straight to Williamsburg, not knowing anything about it,
and never looked back. I spent years reinventing myself, shedding
old skin and growing a new, tougher one and perhaps the world
outside my window simply reflected what was going on inside: constant
change, growth and expansion into the unknown, but I barely noticed.
I was pushing the limits of what had formerly been acceptable
to me. I was testing everything and everything I thought I knew
would be challenged in the process. Amidst the tumult and beautiful
chaos I eventually grew up. Maybe I can’t leave this place
because I see too much of it in me and too much of me in it. Maybe,
closer to the truth, I feel most at home in constant change.
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