The wind blew cold in my face as I let my head fall back onto my shoulders and looked up at the trees. The walk back from the subway to my apartment is always a reflective walk for me. It takes approximately 6 minutes to walk from the trestle to my apartment door, the stroll taking me past large trees and silent houses and avenues. When I cross my first intersection I can look out over the edge of the road that slopes into the distance and see Manhattan sparkling for me and the millions of other eyes that I know are also sharing the experience; but simultaneously seeing the splendor and glitter of the Chrysler Building and the reds and blues of the Empire State Building from the view of their own dreams and aspirations.
Occasionally I put music on to give me a pace at which to think. I wonder about people mostly. Where they are, why they do what they do, who I am to them, and what they would do if I left. I imagine myself packing up my few belongings and leaving New York: my cradle and my foundation; off which I have worked for years to build my own small house-of-cards that I call my career and life.
As another person comes into my life and then passes out of it, I feel somehow less attached to the glitter of the distant sky scrapers. I feel as if another thread in the fabric that is keeping me tied to this metropolis got snipped, and all I am waiting for is the tension of the remaining threads to become taught enough sling-shot me across the oceans and land me in another place where, maybe, I can have the space to grow fabrics to add to my life quilt I wrap myself in when I feel vulnerable.
The majesty of the other countries and communities I have yet to see seems brighter in my minds eye than those glittering peaks in the distance that wink at me as I walk home in the evenings.
Not yet. I tell myself. A mantra I repeat when I feel as if my last threads are ready to break from the frustrations I can feel here.
Not Yet. I sing to myself before I fall asleep, imagining the possibilities of a world to big to comprehend.
I’ll know. I’ll feel the ground shift and the earth move in my life. I’ll know when it’s time to go out into the world and live somewhere else, and experience the foreignness of not being in my adult cradle; swaddled by the browns, grays, blacks and silver that make this city’s colors my childhood blanket which stifles and comforts me daily. But, like a frustrated toddler who has outgrown her toys, I ache for a new pace and new way to live, comforted only by my lullaby:
December 19, 2012 at 6:01 am by Natalie Allen