Connecticut has a cultural divide.  This is not a metaphor; there is literally a dividing line down the center of the state called the Connecticut River.  People that live west of the river are affluent, cultured, professional.  They eat sushi and read literary fiction. They root for New York sports teams and drink a lot of Starbucks.

East of the river is different.  It’s easier to find pizza and chicken wings than haute cuisine, most jobs are blue collar and most cars over ten years old.   Oh, and they have bumper stickers that say things like “I root for the Red Sox and whoever is playing the Yankees.” My town is only about two hours from New York City, but if I randomly asked ten of my neighbors when they last visited the city, half of them will tell you they have never actually been there and have no desire to go.

When I lived in this town 25 years ago, I was not much different.  I visited the city exactly twice before leaving at age 24.  Now, after living over half of my life in major metropolitan areas, I thought that when I moved back I would travel regularly to New York, Boston, Philadelphia and other cities within an easy day’s ride. 

But I haven’t.  Since returning to east-of-the-river Connecticut nine months ago, I’ve been to Boston once and New York City not at all.  A 25-mile trip into Hartford is about as cosmopolitan as I get, and I’ve only done that about five times.

So today I’m going into the city to see my agent, then eat Dim Sum in Chinatown.  Why did I wait so long?  Just a quick trip to Grand Central Station and a cab downtown…