There were many reasons I loved living in a city.
I loved the constant energy; the seemingly countless restaurants and bars; the long, lazy brunches; the pockets of culture like museums and historical sites; the skyscrapers and alleyways; knowing the hidden places that felt like secrets and the corner food cart that served the best breakfast after a long night.
Perhaps most of all, there was no yard work that needed to be done. I had grown up on four acres and my father, born and raised in the city, became like a farmer on the weekends. I’d help him not only cut grass and weed whack, but also with rototilling, stump pulling, tree cutting, and rock moving.