Two years before our son was born, my partner, Liv, and I moved to New York City to immerse ourselves in the city that never sleeps. She was working full-time and pursuing a master’s degree at Columbia, while I was figuring out what it meant to be human after I quit my tech job.
We dreamed of the community and opportunity that awaited us in that glorious place of concrete and glass. After the loneliness COVID brought, I fantasized that we’d meet other adults who shared enough of our values to create a tight community in New York City, one that was more than just friends.
But everything changed after our son was born.
We moved to New York City to live our dream life
My sister-in-law, her boyfriend, and a handful of friends already lived in New York City. The region’s high population density came with the promise of new close relationships.
Within six weeks, we sold our house in suburban Maryland and moved into a New York City apartment, sight unseen.
Living in NYC is like gripping life’s volume knob with both hands and cranking it up past the breaking point. The city offers an unmatched variety of sights, sounds, smells, tastes, and feelings to the privileged people who can afford it.
Some nights over the next year, I sat on our windowsill, admiring the twinkling cityscape teeming with life. I was making new friends, but I wasn’t seeing a path to the fantastical relationships with other adults that I thought would come easily.
The question of whether or not to expand our biological family also hung heavily in my mind.
After an errand to the Financial District, I shared a transformative conversation with a tourist couple from rural Germany. We talked about their children, and I revealed my ambivalence about having my own.
The man’s response was warm and adamant: Having children is the best. There’s never going to be a right time. Just do it.
Courtesy of Zachary Fox Photography
We hugged, took a selfie, and parted ways. Six months later, having learned countless lessons from the city and its people, Liv was pregnant with our first child.
Our priorities shifted after the birth of our son
Shortly after our son was born and I became a stay-at-home dad, our family reached a decision point. We could not afford to live in New York City and enjoy our preferred lifestyle. We needed more space and more help.
A house in my in-laws’ neighborhood was put up for sale at an attractive price. Liv’s desire burned for this home and the comfort of neighbor-parents, but I was unconvinced. Leaving my community and moving to Slower Lower Delaware felt like a massive downgrade.
As our son’s eyes opened and he began to crawl, my priorities shifted toward my growing family. Whenever my mother-in-law trekked up to the city to help with childcare, I felt rested and loved. If we moved, her love and nurturing spirit would be just down the road.
I chose to be excited about the move, focusing on the reasons it felt good, like the familial help, lower financial pressure, and quieter calm.
We bought the house and moved after our son’s first birthday.
An unexpected step toward a dream come true
I am fortunate enough to both love and like my family, including the family I inherited from Liv. With this type of love comes a web of commitment to the well-being of all members of our system. Societal norms make the depth of this commitment far more accessible to family than it is to friends.
In an alternate universe, there’s a version of myself whose hyperlocal community consists of friends and family, where our children have sprawling chosen families and roam freely between homes. In this imaginary village, shops and services are walkable, and what we make transcends money. I thought we might make this happen in New York City. Maybe it can for others, but it didn’t for me.
Perhaps that idealized universe is actually this one, only set a few years in the future. The open-door policy we happily share with my in-laws is a part of the dream made real.
