If I had to pick just one.

We’ve been in New York now for a year and a half. And to say we love it seems pointless - I’ve definitely never lived in a better place, and I don’t think I ever will. Different one day, yes, equally great though in vastly different ways, yes – but no better. Maybe we’ll end up on that rocky cliff overlooking the sea somewhere, someday, and I really hope we do. But for now, here we are and happy.

Since I haven’t consistently documented or shared our life here in New York, I wanted to at least briefly share something that takes up a good deal of our time and sort of encapsulates what we love about the city. I mean, I am pretty sure it’s my very favorite thing to do here. And I think it’s what I’d take with me if we were to leave today.

It’s actually really simple. Every morning, Catherine and I and sometimes Chris, depending on how early we go, walk a few blocks, past the ice-cream booth and the balloon store, to the corner of Duane and Greenwich and get an espresso and a cherry pistachio biscotti from Laughing Man Coffee.

We sometimes sit on the tiny stoop outside the hole-in-the-wall shop and watch what I perceive to be very glamorous or at least fashionable or at the very least interesting people and their kids or dogs go in and out of the shop or loiter around it like we’re doing. Other times, we head straight over to the playground across the little street and Catherine digs in the sandbox and plays with other children who have names like Teddy, Lucie, and Wolfie, while I sip my coffee and watch.

This whole ritual makes me very, very happy. It's the combo of the caffeine, beautiful surroundings, and, hello, company of this perfect little person.

There is also that while I imagine everyone around us to be so glamorous, the neighborhood itself is intimate enough that even though we’re probably only here temporarily, I can almost believe it belongs to us…and that it assumes we belong to it.

As for Catherine – who races down the sidewalks on her purple scooter and skids expertly, for a 3-year-old, to a stop using the toe of her shoe in front of the shop and walks in to order a biscotti, sometimes while I’m still parking her scooter in a more out-of-the-way spot – she totally belongs here. It’s the only home she remembers, and I enjoy watching her eat her biscotti with the confidence of someone who deserves every delicious bite.