And Just Like That, It Isn’t Easy Being Us

1998. It was several lifetimes ago when Sex and the City entered my life. I've learned, changed, discovered, evolved, and hit the reset button many times since Sex and the City debuted on HBO back in 1998. The person I was then wouldn't recognize who I am today, but Carrie, Samantha, Miranda, and Charlotte have remained with me through six seasons, two films, and—And Just Like That.

While at the Terra Farm + Manor

Sex and the City flourished for nearly a quarter of a century, as Carrie, Samantha, Miranda, and Charlotte learned, discovered, changed, and evolved—as all of us did. We empathized with their heartbreaks and celebrated their wins. We saw ourselves in all four women. I saw myself in each of them, sometimes uncomfortably so.

I haven't always agreed with the stories they told. For instance, I couldn't understand how Carrie, who had romanticized Paris, didn't go to Paris until Aleksandr invited her. She was in Paris, but she seemed to settle into loneliness and boredom. I always wondered why she didn't hop on a train to explore France beyond Paris, or even other countries. The train ride from Paris to London is less than three hours. Amsterdam is about three hours by train from Paris. Did she sabotage her days in Paris because she needed an excuse to return to New York to be with Big—John—without seeming to abandon Aleksandr for him?

I understood her obsession with Big, even through their affair while he was married to Natasha and she was with Aiden. Sometimes, the voice from our hearts is much louder than the one from our minds. I understood her when she returned to him even after he broke her heart on their wedding day. When she took the blame, or at least part of it, I was disappointed. Don't enough of us internalize blame when men inflict damage on us?

Does Carrie self-sabotage? I don't consider her an emotional masochist, although her tenacity for Big often felt less like love and more like self-harm. That story—that if a woman gives a man endless chances, he will eventually love her as she desires—is a familiar fiction. That fairytale was shattered when Carrie questioned whether Big had been a mistake after Aiden returned to her life. Sometimes, we live emotionally in the past rather than inhabiting the present. It is something I continue to work on—allowing the past to remain where it belongs while aligning my emotions with the present.

Is Carrie a hoarder? We all know she is a hoarder when it comes to fashion, but is she an emotional hoarder? Aiden hadn't changed much. His insistence on forward motion—gentle, but unyielding—remained intact. He moved through life with “everything is rainbows and unicorns” optimism, even when there were signs of trouble. He hadn't learned that pushing through red flags often destroys rather than resolves. She was drawn again to the same man she couldn't see herself marrying—the same man she had once betrayed with Big. With Big gone, did she simply recycle the feelings of her past because it was less frightening than searching for something new?

And why do we have to be with someone to be happy? I'm happy being a party of one. I have moments when sharing would be nice, but don't couples, at times, wish for solitude? Not every moment can be bliss filled with rainbows and unicorns. Samantha showed us that satisfaction in life doesn't require a man.

At times, Samantha was too much. I appreciated her unapologetic pursuit of sexual gratification. I loved her for showing that sex is a pleasurable physical act, while intimacy is sex with emotional connection—and neither is wrong. She showed up with vulnerability when in love and revealed that a woman’s sexual desire does not make her incapable of love. She showed us sex not as transaction, but as pure pleasure.

I was sad when Samantha was written off on And Just Like That. I didn't appreciate how she was portrayed as having fled to London to avoid the humiliation of being fired by Carrie. Samantha is much stronger than that, and I hoped she would return to New York for Season Three, although we may have to wait as industry strikes continue and the dust settles.

I didn't mind Miranda being a lesbian—or perhaps pansexual. None of that bothered me as she ended her marriage with Steve to be with Che. I didn’t like Che. At times, she read as more performative than self-assured. I initially found her refreshing, with an “I am who I am” and “I do me” attitude. But that confidence began to feel less like clarity and more like immaturity—an assumption that being the center of one’s own universe extends to the one we all share.

Of all the characters who remained at the end of Season Two of And Just Like That, Harry and Anthony are my favorites. I loved Harry's reaction to finding out about Rock. His not-so-accepting reaction at first during the parent-teacher meeting felt real. A parent’s immediate acceptance without questions or hesitation can feel less like engagement and more like distance. Isn’t it human for parents to experience confusion—or even a sense of loss—when their understanding of their child shifts so fundamentally?

Charlotte and Harry approached a deeply contested issue—one being argued across school districts nationwide—with care, love, and a measure of reality. Questions, concerns, confusion, and even doubt from parents are not necessarily rejection, but often reflect the human response to unfamiliar change. Just as anyone requires time to adjust, parents may need time and understanding rather than demand for immediate acceptance. What does it mean for a parent-child relationship when time for understanding is replaced with threat of exclusion? And should there be space for parents to arrive at acceptance, rather than being denied the opportunity to fully engage in their child’s life?

Anthony stood out most in his vulnerability, particularly as he navigated a new relationship with Giuseppe. It doesn't get more real than firing someone you care about, fueled by insecurity, only to realize what you’ve lost. Haven't we all, at some point, pushed someone away out of fear? With the lesson from Stanford's letter, Anthony opens himself—no pun intended—to something unfamiliar, in the hope of something better.

The struggles of love and life persisted. We saw Charlotte return to work while Harry, Lily, and Rock struggled to adjust. Lisa's struggle between career and pregnancy ended in heartbreak. The loss, the guilt—it all felt real, a reminder that sometimes there are no good choices, only difficult ones.

A great deal more unfolded, including the stories of Nya and Seema. In its twenty-five years, the series has remained relevant because it understands that life is layered, contradictory, and deeply personal. We are shaped by our experiences, carrying both confidence and insecurity in equal measure. It isn’t easy being us—but we keep going, because life unfolds, quietly and unexpectedly, just like that.

_____

More essays:

Donald Trump and His 74 Million American Voters

Are We Abusing Self-Care?

Because We Don’t Live in a Perfect World

Breaking of Invisible Minorities

I'll Pass on Forgiveness

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