New York is a lovely city. It is an easy city to go back to and

Kiran Desai, with the eyes of both wanderer and storyteller, once remarked: “New York is a lovely city. It is an easy city to go back to and an easy city to leave. Every time I go there I immediately make travel plans.” These words, though spoken lightly, reveal a deeper paradox that lies within the heart of great cities—their power to both enchant and exhaust, to draw us in with their brilliance yet push us outward with their relentless energy.

When she calls New York a lovely city, she acknowledges its magnetism. It is a place where cultures converge, where dreams are pursued with ferocity, where art, ambition, and humanity pulse together in restless rhythm. Its loveliness is not the quiet beauty of a meadow, but the dazzling blaze of lights upon steel, the music of many languages in a single street, the constant reminder that life is immense and varied. For many, this alone is enough to captivate the heart.

And yet, Desai confesses that it is an easy city to leave. Why? Because the same energy that inspires can also overwhelm. The pace of New York is relentless, its streets crowded with desire and striving. The heart, after a time, longs for silence, for space to breathe, for rest from the ceaseless demands of the metropolis. Thus, New York embodies both extremes: it offers everything, yet asks everything in return. The weary spirit, though grateful for its lessons, may feel compelled to depart, to seek balance elsewhere.

History offers us parallels. Consider Charles Dickens, who visited New York in the nineteenth century. At first, he was fascinated by the bustle, the vigor, and the promise of a new world. But soon, the noise, the filth, and the endless pursuit of gain wearied him, and he departed disillusioned. His experience reflected the same truth Desai speaks: some cities are too immense to remain within forever, yet too compelling not to revisit. They are both home and exile, depending on the heart’s condition.

The line “Every time I go there I immediately make travel plans” speaks to a universal human rhythm. For in entering a place of such magnitude, one remembers the vastness of the world itself. Great cities remind us that life is not to be confined to a single street or skyline. They awaken the traveler’s instinct, stirring the desire to see, to move, to learn from other lands. Thus, New York becomes not only a destination, but a launching point, a reminder that one must always remain in motion between wonder and rest.

The lesson here is clear: embrace places that inspire you, but do not cling to them. Recognize that even beauty can weary the soul if not balanced by retreat. Travel outward when your spirit grows heavy, but return again when you hunger for the fire of inspiration. In this rhythm of leaving and returning, of motion and stillness, you will discover harmony.

So, dear listener, take Desai’s words as a gentle teaching: let the cities of your life, whether New York or elsewhere, serve as both refuge and reminder. Enjoy their loveliness, honor their vitality, but know when to step away, to renew your strength in quieter places. And when you return, let them once more awaken your imagination, stir your desires, and remind you that the world is vast and full of journeys yet to be taken. For in this balance lies the true art of travel, and the wisdom of a life well-lived.