Neglecting New York

I arrived home from another interesting day at work on my birthday; and all I wanted to do was put on my fuzzy sweats, eat sweet potato fries, and watch The Wedding Singer. After that much needed night of comfort, I was ready the next day to bring on a new year of living. Growing up in Connecticut, I had never really taken advantage of the fact that one of the most exciting places on earth was only an hour drive away. We tend to not appreciate the things we have; and for me, New York had always been the neighboring place where I'd catch my flight to other adventures. I love to travel, and I've been to some amazing places; but this past spring I realized I'd been neglecting an amazing place so close to home. I learned that the train, which I can walk to from the town I now live in, will take me right to Grand Central Station. I wanted to get away for my birthday, and I didn't have the time off to do more than a day trip, so we boarded an early morning train to the city.

There's something so special about this city that can't be explained in a simple way. I think everyone loves it in their own way for their own different reasons. For me, it's the energy of the streets, the diversity of the people, and the tolerance for the eccentric. I love watching the people. Nothing fazes them. It's as if they've seen it all, and they probably have. There's always someone interesting on the subway or someone doing something unique (like the three 20-something-year-old boys doing handstands and tumbling all over each other in Bryant Park during an evening concert). Regardless of the wild shenanigans going on around them, the people of New York just continue to go about their business. Last time I went, there was a woman preaching apocolyptic religious notions on the subway, and nobody paid her any mind. There was no one arguing with her. No one trying to quiet her. No one even shaking their head. People just let her say what she had to say and let her be. When Carrie on Sex and the City said that her one true love was the city, I didn't really get it at the time...but I think I'm starting to.

when you're not living your dream, it always feels like a mid-life crisis...

I woke up friday, on the dawn of my 36th birthday, with that calm still feeling of autumn in the air, the air once again crisp in the mornings, the leaves beginning to turn colors and prepare for their fall. I had wanted to prepare myself for 36. I googled any information I could find about the age of 36 in terms of philosophy, religion, psychology, astrology, and/or numerology. It seemed strange to me that I could not even find a Turning 36 for Dummies. I had figured that I would find some information about what to expect at this age, especially from the ancient religions and philosophies who had examined astronomy and astrology. I wanted to understand and make sense of this stirring inside, this need for change on some deeper level within that's making me feel desperate to move out, to move away, to seek something new, something different...

Some people might call this a mid-life crisis, but I think I've been feeling this way for a while now. I guess I've always had this innate desire for change. While some people can't handle change and spend their lives striving for stability and security, I've always felt safe in the idea that things will change. The idea that things might stay the way they are now for the rest of my life has always made me feel uncomfortable. Growing up, I watched my father wake up every morning at 5 a.m., go to work, come home and watch T.V., only to go to bed to wake up and do the same thing again the next day. Every. Single. Day. And I thought, This is not for me. Isaac Asimov is credited with the quote, "The only constant is change," and I've always found comfort in this truth. Maybe the truth is  that when you're not living your dream, it always feels like a mid-life crisis.

nostalgia

Hurricane Irene 
  swept through my home 
state leaving many at the
  mercy of the darkness.

In the days that followed,
without power, there was
 a calm that came without
 the noises electricity
makes around the house.

People took to the streets,

And I saw kids outside, teen-
 agers too hanging around
friends and family talking 
 face to face in the open air.

 Families walked together,
flashlights bobbing a stream
of light against the street. One
 night, I drove by a laughing

family, in their front yard, talk-
ing to neighbors as the sun set
painted the sky. I went to sleep
 as the sky darkened,

without a care for time.

There was something peaceful
about it all. I really like this, I
admitted to myself. Days later,

the electricity came back on.
Shouts & cheers were heard around
the streets. Someone set off fireworks. 

And then all was quiet.

I went for a walk later that night
and thought about the closed
doors of the homes I passed. 

The streets were once again lonely.