The rush of musty hot air as the subway car approaches; the cobblestones lumped together into the most uneven walking/strolling surface in urban existence; the way the sun glares off of certain windows of certain buildings on certain avenues, beckoning you to shift your gaze upwards and making you realize how grand the buildings are and how very tiny you are; the fast walking and faster talking and invigorating buzz of the sidewalk crowds; the secret stoops and benches and alleyways, only discovered by time and experience, where you can duck away from it all and feel alone amongst eight million others; the kindness of strangers; the craziness of strangers; the physicality and the freedom of being able to walk wherever you need to go, no matter how far; the passing aromas of shwarma and hot dogs and roasted nuts from the corner stands; the abundance of beauty in the faces of passerby's and in the glorious architecture and in the wild leafy parks, and how it seems to build and reflect off of you, making you feel absolutely beautiful too; the serendipity in the everyday which never fails to somehow put you on the right path, with the right people, on the right adventure, forcing you to live in the moment and compelling you to trust the ways of the city..
This is my home. This is my medicine. Whether I be feeling out of sorts or a little lost or lethargic or dull, I step out into the city and I am well again, and things are clear, and the world is mine. New York City heals me. It gets under my skin in the best kind of way, infuses me with hope and compassion and adventure, reminds me that anything. is. possible.
And I am feeling very grateful today to call it my home. I can't think of any place in the world that I'd rather be.
Oh, yes, and 17 weeks! **gratitude**
