Growing up in Bergen County, I thought life unfurled at a model, comfortable pace. That’s what happens when you’re little, right? Your family has a particular rhythm, a certain cadence that dictates how the days move. And since you don’t know anything else, you just go with it. Maybe the process of growing and maturing has something to do with it, but I remember being thankful that my life didn’t move too swiftly.
When I visited relatives in New York City, I saw the hustle and bustle of those hyper, insane City people. Everything with them was fast. They even talked fast. Growing up, I swore that my father, who grew up in the Bronx, spoke a foreign language. It was only years later that I realized he was just speaking English at an unintelligible speed. Anyway, life in New York was always rush, rush, rush. I never saw people just kicking back and enjoying themselves. Those were times when I was thankful that Bergen County was slower.
