One does not simply live in New York. One has a relationship with New York.
If my personal affair with the city was manifested in regular, human relationship terms, today New York surprised me with flowers and chocolates upon arriving home from work.
Of course, it doesn't exactly work like that. But it is like being mesmerized by big old buildings and seeing my children in awe too. It's very much like discovering free art carts and the kids gluing bits of string to pretty paper--the simplest, most innocent joy in the whirlwind of Midtown. It's like wandering to the center of Bryant Park and sitting down to a home-packed lunch while the suddenly-autumnal breeze skips leaves across the sidewalk. Like a pianist showing up for a lunchtime jazz concert the moment you've sat, accompanying the tail end of the day with a movie-ready soundtrack.
Any relationship has ups and downs; and I can say confidently that I'm fighting for my love for New York. It was just especially nice to feel that today New York was fighting for me too. (And those serendipitous reminders can carry you an awful long way.)