Amy Cray

Start spreading the news.. I am [not] leaving today. Sigh.

If we had talked at the end of May, I’d have told you I was on my way to New York, as soon as I lined up a job. By June, I’d have told you my real estate agent had a few garden brownstone apartments lined up to view, and that my daughter’s Park Slope school was the cutest thing in the world. After all, we had gone, researched, clamored online for borough opinion and made several scouting trips over the prior year, investigated every freaking neighborhood from Jackson Heights to Sunset Park and back. By July I had already seen the beginnings of our life there, and wandered around the DUMBO waterfront imagining how my two dogs would adapt to the change. We were definitely on our way East, and were absolutely thrilled about it.

I wore a Leifsdottir black dress with a navy ruffle and cute Kenneth Cole Louboutin knockoffs to an amazing interview in Midtown, where my new agent ordered a Tom Collins and over lunch pitched potential positions for me in the city. I joined my favorite family shortly after in Queens to celebrate this amazing day over Sangria and get a head start planning all the dinner parties we would soon be co-hosting, and all the fall family getaway trips to the New England rental of our dreams.

I had a little secret during this small celebration that at the time, seemed impossible and was therefore out of mind. I very much doubted that my wife was actually pregnant, since we had only made a few attempts and had surely depleted our karma bank with quickly conceiving our first child. She was home in Oakland that week, calling my cell phone, while I was wandering around New York investigating bilingual afterschool programs and considering commute times, leaving successively confident messages that our expectations of a year or two of trying to conceive were possibly very inaccurate.

The thing is, I never expected this kid to be so easy to create. With all the tools and systems in place in the lesbian baby-making paradise of San Francisco and Oakland (Oakland has more per-capita lesbian families than any city in the world. Did you know that?) it was an easy project to launch here and, frankly, a safer place to consider it. We have advocates for our needs here. Strong communities of inclusion for our multiracial gay family. Lots of supporting friends. A willing nanny and great preschool. Swift second parent adoptions. These things are key. I figured we’d move the process East along with the rest of our lives at some point. And it was important to just keep living and not get suckered into living for conception only.

I was planning to finally finish my degree at NYU and had gotten the green light to go. My wife was thrilled with any prospect of change. Life had been stressful and gloomy for awhile and we needed a boost.

A boost we got!

Obviously, our plans have changed. The limitations of what would be zero vacation time from a brand new job and no Paid Family Leave (come on, NY, get it together) the financial investment of moving your family zoo across the country, the timing of the school year and the beginning of kindergarten and lots of boring things you don’t need to hear about, have thrown a curve into this little plan of ours.

I still love you, New York. And someday you’ll hand me the key to my garden brownstone. But I need to let you go and focus on this little life I’m living here for now. In an awesome 1940’s townhouse with access to world renowned vineyards, a revolutionary food community (from the coast who thought of it first), a neighborhood full of art and inclusion, wacky politics and amazing coffee, nontoxic beaches and Indian summers. Bumping into Meshell Ndegeocello at Whole Foods and Ledisi at IKEA. Over 1000 square feet of home ownership.

Maybe in thirty years I’ll still be here. Who knows. I’m leaving the door open to everything, including bright California sun to guide us through these next few years.

Will you ever forgive me?