Sunday was my first day back from our trip to St. John and the day that "officially being a New Yorker" really started to sink in. I was actually doing day-to-day things like the six loads of laundry Kevin and I had acquired from the holidays and our vacation.

I needed to run down to the market on the corner to buy a few rolls of quarters to finish the laundry. I walked quickly as I calculated my task at hand, "If I make it back in 9 minutes the first few loads will be ready to go into the dryer by the time I return." And as I walked, quickly clipping along the sidewalk and hugging myself tightly in the chill of the evening, I passed a man on the sidewalk. As I passed I heard him say, "Anyone who walks like that is a real bona fide New Yorker."

I turned around and flashed him a smile and quickly continued on my way.

A bona fide New Yorker? Well that didn't take me long! So I wondered, as I continued to race down the street, "Are my fast feet really a sign that I've become a New Yorker, or is it just a quality that I've had all along - something that didn't quite fit in in the south, but that has finally found itself at home in this fast paced city?"

When I'm hiking a trail with Kevin I don't feel fast. He's always one step ahead of me and that's fine - it keeps me going, but outside of that I've always been a quick mover. As short as they are, my legs move quickly always having somewhere to go ... and fast.

In middle school I remember always rushing around the halls. I swore the counselors must have had it out for me designing my schedule so that each class was at the complete opposite end of the school from the next. The five minutes in between classes were not enough to get to my locker and into my next seat before the bell rang. It seemed like all my friends had plenty of time to meet and greet in the halls as I struggled to sneak in a bathroom break. I remember one day rushing home and strait into the bathroom. Having not gone all day, such a trip was urgent. My mother watched as I rushed by, "You'll have bladder problems one day!"

High School was no different, and by college I found myself frustrated with slow walkers and especially people who would stop right in my path. I'd feel like a car trying to veer around them so as to avoid hitting them. And now I'm in New York just keeping up with the flow of traffic. It feels like I fit in - my high heels clicking along the street at the same pace as the next gal.

So why is it that New Yorkers (at least most of them) move quickly? Does the heat of the south slow down life like molasses? Is everyone up hear just so darn cold that they’re trying to get their blood moving? Is it that everyone here has tons to do and no time to do it? I wonder if the more a person has on their plate, the faster they move hoping to somehow make up for lost time during their on-foot commute. Or are we in a figurative life race that transports literally to the pavement – each of us trying to move faster than the next to get ahead? I'm not sure. All I know is I’m apparently a bona fide New Yorker and I’m going to use that to my full advantage … as fast as my quick little legs can carry me.