New York Nepotism

I can't help but miss the feeling of ignorance and stiff mindful numbness. I live in the most ignorant city in the world; New York City. When you're here, you're not supposed to think of any other place or thing outside the barriers of each borough. You're not supposed to miss the simplicity, however, fall into a new simpleness in that of ignoring the rest of the world. I think it's somewhat of a not-so-secret ego. A natural yet artificial nepotism and superiority. Why does New York make everyone fit a certain NPC robot-like archetype? Why do we shun our faces in crowded subways and hide purple under-eyes below large red umbrellas? Why do we put our Airpods in with no music playing at the site of another? Why do crowded lively streets feel lonely and desolate? Why does the city feel so different when experiencing it with someone for their first time? You see it for the sprinkled cupcakes, yellow lettered playbills, top of the Rockefeller views, and glitter-paved streets near Bryant Park. You smell it for the decadent smells of warm nuts on fifth avenue and hear it for honks of checkered cabs rushing you to the next landmark. You feel it when you put on the velvet purple two-piece skirt set with gold buttons that's been hanging on a hanger back home for weeks. The sensation is, well, sensational. Hotel rooms, uber blacks, dinners at Carbone, shopping at Bergdorf's, trips to the top of the Empire State, Jazz bars every night; unsustainable New York City living. Or is it? How realistically achievable are one's dreams? Is it better to be a fish in a small pool or a big one? If there are men with wives and families who will pay $600 for you to speak to them, shouldn't we be forced to question humanity and all its perceived righteousness? Shouldn't we question the true value of money and good company? What matters more? Self-sustaining material New York City happiness, or true love and companionship in any other part of the world, no matter how small? Will I always view the city through a thick dark fog until a friend comes with their rose-tinted glasses?