For someone who loves nature and quiet as much as I, it may seem strange that I moved to New York City and left Oregon at the start of Fall, my favorite season and one that epitomizes the beauty of nature and quiet reflection for me.
But however strange it may seem, not every path we take will suit what we picture as our Selves, and it is on these paths that we get a better picture of who we are and who we can become. But my thoughts are scattered, so forgive me while I spend a few lines picking them up.
It is raining today. The streets are loud and crowded with people hurrying from place to place, eyes bobbing up and down in answer to the siren’s call of their glowing phones. Vendors hawk food and fruit while behind them small clouds of street-born steam go drifting by from manhole to storm grate.
Firetrucks blare in the closing distance.
I’m on the street wearing flip-flops that splash the back of my legs with every step. I order coffee, black. I get coffee, tan.
I’m back inside staring out across the rooftop of the hospital next door. It, too, is pouring steam into the grey-brown evening. Big neon signs are peeking through the gloom with their red and white letters on a skyless skyline.
10,000 faces could be looking into my window, and yet I feel no eyes but the city’s.
My heart starts beating faster and my breathing gets shallow.
This city, in a lot of ways, is everything that I am not. But maybe it is because of that, that I am so enamored by it.