I’m standing in Columbus Circle on a perfect NYC day, ie still sweating through my underpants but no one’s yelling, at least not at me.
Whenever I come here, I’m reminded that you can’t cherry pick the good stuff.
You might envy Douchebag McWallstreet’s money, but it’s a package deal with their teeth-grinding vapidity.
You might envy so-and-so’s fame, but you can’t enjoy being comped at Masa without said so-and-so’s crippling-yet-fashionable anxiety.
Everyone has their thing, their baggage, their demons, and, on balance, I’ll take mine.