After college I moved to New York City and found the perfect apartment right off Fifth Avenue and the perfect job at a fashion magazine. It was all too good to be true: a closet full of designer clothes; restaurants and clubs; Broadway shows, ballet at Lincoln Center, openings at the Metropolitan and Modern Art Museums; and weekends in the Hamptons, the Caribbean, and Aspen. There were dinner parties where I was the only “nonfamous” guest, and my friends were the most interesting people I’ve ever met. It was The Devil Wears Prada without the devil and Sex and the City without the sex (though there were plenty of dazzling dates).

After a while, though, I began to understand what Thoreau meant when he said he was lonelier in Boston than at Walden Pond.

Then, on New Year’s Day in 1995, I flew to Los Angeles to do a magazine launch. Two weeks turned into three, and a nine-month contract. During that time, I started seeing a man who was the complete opposite of every boyfriend I’d ever had in New York. For starters, he loved L.A.

Decades in New York looking for love and the guy is in L.A., with an unmovable business to boot? It couldn’t be. I had no friends in L.A.—everyone seemed so thin, blonde, and busty and talked about money and movies instead of books and culture. Restaurants served sprouts. The driving was the pits—like the Long Island Expressway on a Friday afternoon whenever you were going anywhere.

But the weather was heavenly, the ocean was a two-minute walk away, and here was a guy who loved being with me. I told one of my friends he even tagged along to the grocery store, and she said, “I’ve never had a boyfriend who wanted to be with me.” I knew what she meant. I insisted, though, we were apples and oranges. She asked, “Who’s the apple?”

I talked to a shrink—in New York—and learned to get comfortable with everything foreign. A month remained on my contract when I had to vacate the company apartment. There wasn’t even a discussion—I just moved into my boyfriend’s house, and started redecorating. It was all so easy and, soon, so right. We got married, pregnant, and I gave up my perfect apartment off Fifth. It’s been a year since we’ve been back to New York.

Here’s what I miss most:

I console myself knowing my Manolos are always good as new and that within ten minutes I can run on the beach, hike in the mountains, or play tennis on any one of a number of empty courts. I live in a house with lots of light, and a garden with lemon and avocado trees that make great guacamole. Plus, my clothes are wrinkle free, thanks to plenty of closets bigger than lockers. My friends love to visit, and I’ve even made new ones. Most importantly, at the end of every day, I know I have a husband who loves me, a beautiful daughter, and a new puppy. All in L.A., where there’s more than meets the eye.

Sue D. Nymn lives and works in West Los Angeles.