New York, After Three Days

I’m not even there, and New York City is twisting me. How does it have this effect? This magnetic pull, something whispering in your ear of the spectacular opportunities you could only have if you gave yourself to the chaos. When I’m there, I feel it slowly creeping up on me. Without noticing, my ankles have sunken in and my palms are scraped from the asphalt. Did I trip? I don’t remember using my hands to break a fall? But there they bleed, rubble under my skin, the island branding me hers.

When I’m in Boston, Providence, or maybe sometimes even Los Angeles, the goggles come off and I can see the city for what it is. 222 miles is barely enough to run! Where is there to scream? We’ve grown up on mountains, how do we find ease on these rooftops? This island is 18 times smaller than the world we’ve always known, the mania more apparent when concentrated in 225 blocks. The chaos is the same, isn’t it? In so many ways, yes. Constantly climbing ladders with no visible end, filling ourselves to the top until we’re numb.

And where are we to run to? When the buildings feel too close together, the streets too narrow to roam, where do we find salvation? When euphoria is usually found in open roads, in eternal landscape and infinite sunshine. How do you find happiness in concrete after spending eighteen years learning to love Earth under your feet? I’ve spent what there is of my life trying to get to New York, and now that I’m at its doors, I want to turn around and run home. But when I’m there, all memories of a world outside slip away. The entire universe becomes The City, anything outside of it a lesser attempt at society. The center of the universe was built on a 22²-foot island. But then I get to think whose center it really is.

In a single city block, you can see more diversity than you can in most liberal arts colleges in America. Walking down 3rd Ave, a dozen narratives fly through my head. A child on a leash, a dog in a purse, the backward and upside down glisten here. ‘This insanity is what you need!’ it screams, grabbing me by my wrists. Every time I try to leave, something delays me. The bus is an hour late or the train is shut down. Sweet silly city, is this a sign that I should never leave? Or a warning that if I don’t now, I never will.