It Happened in Brooklyn...

Yesterday I ventured out to my soon-to-be borough for the second time ever. I've got to get out more! I loved it. I never, ever thought I'd like Brooklyn. Like SATC's Miranda (as loathe as I am to commiserate with such a heinous bitch) or Grace in the pilot episode of Will and Grace (as loathe as I am to commiserate with such a shrill harpy), I thought moving to Brooklyn meant giving up all hope of a life like Hollywood promised me. Afterall, no one lives in Brooklyn. No movies (at least none that I'd want to emulate) are set in Brooklyn. If the movies are to be believed, the best thing about Brooklyn was the bridge into Manhattan.

And maybe that's still true. I spent the afternoon in Brooklyn Bridge park with my blanket and my peanut M&M's, reading in the sun about Bill Bryson's travels in Europe. The park was lovely- lots of green grass, huge flat rocks to sit on, a perfect view of the Brooklyn Bridge and the lower Manhattan skyline, a breeze off the water of the East River. They show free movies in the park on Thursday nights in the summer, and in honor of the 125th anniversary of the opening of the "Grand Lady of Brooklyn" (the bridge), each night this weekend. Last night it was "It Happened in Brooklyn," a 1947 musical romantic comedy starring Frank Sinatra. While I'm not so sure about the "comedy" part (lots of ethnic jokes at the expense of an Italian janitor), I love old movies like this. (Actually, anytime Frank sings is good enough for me.) But Frank Sinatra's character loved Brooklyn. He was proud of Brooklyn. He wanted everyone to know that he was a proud Brooklyn-ite.

And it hit me. I want to be a part of that. I want to find a place that people are proud of and I want to be a part of it. Now, this movie is sixty years old. Maybe there's not so much to be proud of in Brooklyn these days. But maybe there wasn't back then. Maybe Frank loved it anyway.

And maybe it's okay to love a place that's not perfect. I spent so long hating my hometown, for so many reasons. Its painful dullness, its nosy denizens, its painful struggle to believe in a glory long-past while refusing to acknowledge its own steady decline. I don't love it there, but I might be learning to respect it more. There's nobility in a lost cause, even if it's painful to watch those I love go down with the ship.

So I'm giving Brooklyn a try. I'm older and I'm (arguably) wiser now, and I'm no longer looking for perfection. There's a beauty in reality that gets lost in utopia, a beauty I've never recognized before. Encouraged by the movies, I thought Manhattan was utopia. It's certainly not, but I'm no longer looking for it. Here's hoping I find my beauty in Brooklyn.