Its a funny thing to wake up and look out the window and see new york city. I am bit paralyzed by options, things to do, people to catch up with, expensive stuff to buy or at least touch and think about buying once I have a real job. Again I have the feeling of perpetual motion, constant moving, the sensation of time literally washing over your skin. As much as Kansas City was a collapsing of time New York is equally saturated with people and strange stories and blurry memories of a late night in this or that neighborhood. New York doesn't seem so big or so foreign-just funny. As opposed to moving to Croatia moving to New York is like instant coffee, just add water and a life begins to materialize.
I'm attempting to ignore it all for a couple of days in order to wrap up a paper I've been working on and neglected while in KC. I've hunkered down in Paula's apartment sitting up on her high riser chair, occasionally starring out on to the east river and eating carrots in an attempt to procrastinate longer. I have the urge to just go on a long walk and soak it all up. And to go shopping. And to go to museums. and to hang out in a park with some friends, but instead I'm sitting here in front of my computer. Self-discipline is hard to come by these days.
Some notes about here vs there.
In Zagreb on the trams everyone is always checking you out, looking you up and down, starring at your shoes that are a bit shabby or that not quite hip hair cut you may have let grow into a bad phase. Occasionally you'd get the grandma who would say something to you and a handful of people would be listening to music on their cell phones. For the most part though it was acknowledged that a bunch of random people were sitting or standing around you. During busier times of the day everyone just smooshed on and off the trams. however, new york is a different story. Its like everyone riding the subway is sitting in a glass case with tinted windows, boxed squarely on all sides, body in proper form, eyes turned down. They pretend that if they didn't look around or didn't hear the rumble of the subway they were alone for a while. I, on the other hand, want to peek at the book that is printed in cyrillic and occupying the older man next to me who is slumped into a spherical shape, I want to know about the girl who is pretending her knees are her office desk, shuffling through paper clipped papers and manilla folders, and I'd like to ask everyone where maybe they are heading. Everyone here says you get used to the commute, you read so much more, you listen to great podcasts, that you begin to hate it when you run into someone you know on your daily commute because you don't really want to chat, you want to pull the shades on your personal bubble and only come out at 14th and union, or wherever it is you may be heading. We'll see.
It is really hard to not feel like the luckiest person. I keep joking soon my luck will run out and I'll get hit by a train but I really hope that doesn't happen. Here's the truth, home is always dripping with depth and history and every inch of this city is like a heavy woven rug, intricate and delicate and well loved. It sort of blows my mind the lives we create in the glimpses, the passing moments, and the lives we create over extended time through sustained exposure, the pure accumulation of stories.
In the last month there has been some real delightfully, oh-this-is-what-it-feels-like-to-be-totally-happy, moments.