In the mid 1990s I moved to NYC from Kansas via 18 months in Seattle. I moved for graduate school and there was much to love: I could walk everywhere, the movie theaters were fantastic, grocery stores were stocked with asian pears, olives, lots of chocolate, litchi nuts, litchi-flavored gummy Japanese candy, donut shaped peaches, prepared gorgeous meals, excellent teas, portuguese rolls, fabulous coffee, and fondue in packages. I regularly called home to describe my trips to the grocery. There was opera and Summer Stage in Central Park, the yoga studio I attended didn't cost a fortune; it was a quiet, spartan space with flourescent lighting and a curtain for a changing room. There was Body and Soul in Tribeca—a Sunday daytime dance club that my best friend attended like church. No velvet ropes, no degrading lines, no alcohol-- just a great stretch of music for dancers wearing sneakers.