Thoughts

Walking down the street, I notice stands that advertise, "Tourist Information!" 
For what? I wonder to myself. Oh. For all of this. The Empire State Building. Everything.

Walking home from work, I found myself weaving and dodging between tourists and families, walking when there were no cars, and even walking when there were. The faint smell of the cigarette perched between two fingers of the man in front of me drifts towards my nose, but only for a fleeting moment before a rush of cool wintery air wraps around us.

I saw a bunch of students walking around in circles with drums and flags, sewn with some kind of Asian character symbols, presumably Korean. There is joy on their faces, and they have a pride in their community. They don't draw a huge crowd, but people from every race are standing and watching–enjoying.

Women with fantastic accents and dark nail polish come into work, (Starbucks... Did I mention that?) not to be tourists, but for work... Fashion Week starts on Monday, after all.

As I walk home, carrying relatively heavy groceries, the chill nips at my ears, and the sidewalks are crowded with people. This is a place of happiness and sadness, habits and traditions, saying hello to new friends, or for goodbyes, to your dad, after he snagged a cheap flight and got to come visit you for a few days. Most places you walk, even if your feet are killing you sometimes. Right or left, skyscraper to subway, homeless or housed,

I love New York.

One Little Corner

Happy 2012! I kind of made a resolution to not make resolutions this year. I want to write more, I want to read more, I want to go to yoga class on a regular basis, and enjoy time with my friends. But that's more of a continuation of this whole "new life" thing I started last year.

Today, my day could best be described as sweet. Not surfer dude/70's drug high, "sweeeet, man," but sweet. Like apples that you buy from a farmer's market in Union Square, or that feeling you get as you walk past your favorite place and notice snowflakes dancing in the air.

Sitting in my apartment earlier, I had one of those moments. I started reading a beautiful book just released by one of my favorite authors, and I glanced at the clock- three hours until I go to meet some friends at our diner. Our diner. I'm curled up on my parquet wood floor, bare feet happy to be free from the BizCas shoes I wore today. There is a small pile of clothes sitting next to my bed, but a larger pile of books next to it. Cars drive by under my window, sounding less like cars and more like the white wave noise of the ocean.

In July, I was a miserable wreck. There were unanswered questions in regards to the finances surrounding school, and I didn't want to face another year of my same existence. I'd had 18 years of a beautiful life, but 18 years is really a long time to live somewhere without experiencing something else once in awhile. One of my closest friends was (is!) a funny boy named Hayden, who lives in the far off land of California. He too was tired of his small town, and we shared a mutual fondness for Friends (the tv show,) Hot Tamales (the candy) and The Big Man Upstairs (You know, the God.) He has an eloquent (and newly redesigned!) blog called One Little Corner- the title taken from this song.




Throughout the summer, Hayden was one of the forces who kept me sane. He is one of my dearest friends, as is his fantastic girlfriend. Without God, I wouldn't be here, without my family and friends, I wouldn't be myself, and without Hayd, I wouldn't know that this happiness, this peace, this utterly content feeling would be called a corner. For the time being, in this fragile world, this corner is mine. Thanks, Hayd.

It's A Wonderful Life

It’s quite strange being back in North Carolina after living in New York for several months. I almost feel as though I’ve been in a coma, and my life in New York is some elaborate dream. Every day this week, I’ve opened my eyes and seen the same bedroom that I lived in for 18 years. I’ve been working my old job at Starbucks over the holiday season, and aside from my room being cleaner (thanks, mom!) and my brother being taller, (grr) things feel quite the same.

There’s a whole host of mixed emotions in my mind right now. I love New York, and I’m home there. I’m going back in less than two weeks, and I see myself quite possibly staying there for the rest of my life. But this room, this house, is a place of emotional security and warmth. Even when my town has been too small or my woods too spider-filled, my house has never failed to be a source of comfort, due in part to my family who is here, and in part to the unchanging stains on my carpet, the pictures on my walls and life I’ve lived here.

I love here, and I love there, and while the two polar opposite places seem to conflict with one another, I’m able to love both places with open arms. I’m grateful for the stability of my childhood, complete with a nurturing mom, peacemaking and caring dad, adorably quirky brother, two cats, three dogs, and a network of friends. And because of that stability, I can be truly grateful for a tiny apartment in New York, 24/7 access to ice cream and a huge school family with dorky biblical puns and people who read Plato for play.

I’m thankful that I get to spend the holidays with my family here, I’m grateful for free laundry and not having to cook every meal for myself, and I’m grateful for the life that I have, spiders, sirens, southern drivers, snowstorms, splinters and all.

Merry Christmas.