A tale of two cities

Moving to a new city is a study in contrasts. The highs feel euphoric; the lows hit hard. Part of it, I think, comes from the blank-slate effect—everything is unfamiliar, and every emotion is amplified.

But also, as with people, when are expectations ever fully met? The real challenge is learning to love a place for what it is, not for what you hoped it would be. Not for how it could change or improve to better suit your version of perfect. Because if you ever leave—trust me on this—you’ll mostly remember the good. And wherever you go next, you’ll find a new set of flaws to sit with, likely forgetting the ones that once bothered you here. That’s the human pattern: we glorify what’s gone and nitpick what’s present. Maybe that’s life nudging us to slow down and shift the lens. To appreciate the moment instead of fixating on what it lacks.

There’s a book I loved—Andromeda—that touches on this, though it’s about romantic relationships. Still, I often think of cities like people: with their own scents, quirks, moods, and memories. Each one shaped by the stories we live in them.

“The new and the fleeting offer a chance for you yourself to become new… a chance to be seen as you want to be seen, maybe as the person you really are: a fragment that contains more truth than the whole.”

That line stuck with me. Maybe the task isn’t to pin our rebirth on a new city—it’s a lot of pressure to put on a place that owes us nothing—but to find that renewal in each day. A city shouldn’t be your crutch or your shortcut to transformation. It’s just the backdrop. You’re the playwright, the director, and the lead character.

And when you look at a blank canvas—whether it’s a new city, relationship, or chapter—remember that it’s not defined by its first brushstrokes. Your hometown wasn’t either. It holds a thousand good moments and a thousand bad ones, layered into the same space. That’s the magic of time and perspective.

Try taking the long view. Just because the canvas is blank doesn’t mean it’s destined to be shaped by your first five frustrations. It takes time—lots of it—for the full picture to emerge. So I remind myself often: if it won’t matter in five years, don’t let it ruin five seconds. Don’t get lost in the noise. The details aren’t the whole story. The bigger picture is still being painted.