I think this is going to be my last But Back to Me post. It's hard to believe that in April, I'll have lived here for 17 years. I still find the city extraordinary, but I am no longer overwhelmed by it, at least not most days. I now prefer to take photos of New York, usually in its details, rather than of myself in it or figuring out what being here means to me and who I am.
I'll end with two photos: one taken in November 1993 by my godmother, on the stoop of a three-month sublet I had on 15th Street between 7th and 8th avenues. We had just finished loading the few things I had (a futon I'd bought, a coffee table and small TV she'd loaned me, some clothes, a tiny dresser) into her car, and I asked her to take a picture of me.
And here's one 16 years later, almost to the day:
It's a self-portrait at Coney Island on Thanksgiving Day, 2009. It was a few days after a big turning point in my life. I'm excited to see what comes next and where it takes me.
