John Guare, the esteemed playwright, once shared with me an intriguing perspective on living in one’s hometown—specifically, New York for him. He likened roaming one’s neighborhood to flipping through a personal diary, stating, “everything has a history.” At that time, in 2010, I had already spent two and a half years in the city and found myself grappling with two opposing feelings: a profound sadness that I lacked such a connection and an equally strong happiness that I was free from it. When you leave home, every corner can evoke memories, and this can haunt you for decades.
This reflection arises in light of Lena Dunham’s recent article in the New Yorker, where she details her own separation from New York, reminiscent of Joan Didion’s renowned 1967 essay, “Goodbye to All That.” While Didion relocated to California at the age of 20, Dunham has roots in New York, and in her wonderfully engaging piece, she catalogs the many reasons she doesn’t fit in with the city.
Dunham recalls her childhood impressions of New York as chaotic, overwhelming, and contrary to her personality. She writes, “Many cabdrivers—like oracles—remarked that I seemed to come from elsewhere, since, regardless of how off track they drove or how pressed for time I was, I always expressed cheerful gratitude and lacked any preferred routes, unlike true New Yorkers.”
The essay also serves as a form of promotion for her upcoming Netflix series, *Too Much*, which I assume to be the intention since the New Yorker typically avoids explicit advertisements. The show draws loosely from Dunham’s experiences of leaving New York and weathering heartbreak—first in Wales and later in London, a city she ultimately finds to be more fitting for her.
I’ve appreciated Dunham’s recent projects, including *Catherine Called Birdy*, which she both wrote and directed for Amazon, and the pilot for HBO’s *Industry*. As *Girls* sees a resurgence among Generation Z viewers who are discovering it anew, it’s astonishing to remember the criticism she faced as a 25-year-old navigating the complexities of six seasons of the show, with the determination reminiscent of David Chase—a man forty years her senior.
Regarding mobility, Dunham notes that London enticed her because it represented a “blank slate.” Sadly, when relocating, one inevitably brings their own emotional baggage, which often becomes a reason for returning home—the realization that the soil of a place where you didn’t grow up can feel rather barren. In my case, after spending years in New York, I was prompted to return to London during a decidedly middle-aged moment of clarity, recognizing that I didn’t want to spend my final days there. I had witnessed my mother’s passing far from home, and while she found England preferable to her original homeland, I felt that an irreplaceable aspect was lost in her journey.
Nonetheless, Dunham astutely observes that time operates differently in London compared to New York. She writes, “In New York—the fastest city worldwide—days felt like years. In London, years slipped by like days.” This shift led her to the realization, after five years, that London had become her home, to the extent that she now refers to seltzer as “sparkling water” and settles for bagels that aren’t quite up to standard.
Every move—whether to or from these cities—provides years’ worth of material to discuss and create content about, although as Didion pointedly remarked in her essay, when confronted with questions about her departure from New York, “we provided the usual answers, the types everyone typically gives.”
Ultimately, it’s less about the specific attributes of a location that draw or repel individuals; rather, it’s the meanings those places evolve to embody, which can shift over time. Recently, as I strolled down a picturesque street in London, surrounded by horse chestnut trees and the cooing of wood pigeons, I was overwhelmed by the vividness of those sensations, deeply connected to my earliest memories. Ironically, this intensity only struck me after nearly two decades away from such familiarity.
Guare remarked that if, at twenty, he had been told he would spend his entire life in New York, “I would have thought: what went wrong? I always envisioned myself living in California first, then London; I adore London but feel the people are far too polite. I missed a good confrontation on the subway.” The idea of remaining in New York would have seemed “terrible. Terrible. Terrible. Terrible. Terrible.” Yet, as is the case for many who cannot pursue the option of leaving, the luxury of going back home is even more profound.
Emma Brockes is a columnist for the Guardian.
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