Sometimes we travel not just for the thrill and adventure. Sometimes we travel just to see someone we love, or to run away from that which we do not love. Sometimes we travel in search of something new, maybe even specific. Generally, I travel to get absurdly lost in unknown sidewalks, losing my sense of time in a state of wonder. There was something different about this particular trip. I was traveling straight to heartbreak. This is where I give you a friendly heads up regarding this entry. Sure, it does not have my usual uplifting, optimistic tone (as it’s become a blogging habit for me), but it is just as truthful and real. Lucky for me, I was in New York City (place I had previously wandered during vacations and conferences). This time there was no wandering; there was no sightseeing. There was only walking, there was only seeing. It was autumn. My boots took angry leaps from East 31st Street to Central Park. I was alone; the walk worked me up as it calmed me down simultaneously. Fifth Avenue was busy with pretty looking people, but nothing like the human stampede I had passed on Broadway earlier. The beautiful people were wearing stylish coats. The sound of French and English blended together was disorienting. My feet were hurting already. Maybe I had in fact walked my way to Paris, parting the sea and storming through to the other side of the pond. A cliché thought. I was not alone, though. It was not just me. All of New York was angry, too. People cursing at each other were heard in every direction. If I had not been so inside my head, I would have probably counted how many times the blond girl next to me said the F word to her boyfriend on the phone. Distinctive cars became a blur of yellow cabs as the light went green. I saw at least five people, including elderly ladies, almost get ran over in a perfectly legal attempt to cross the street. If you want to get to the other side, you have got to join the masses. To the drivers, you won’t matter as much if you walk alone. In my previous visits to Manhattan, I had enjoyed the bright lights in Times Square, and the random brick buildings I loved to photograph. But this time I was feeling so much. I hardly took any pictures. I was not seeing New York, I was diluting in it. I wanted to be the regal skyline, the noise of construction sites, the honking cabs, the smog, and the curse words from over-stressed pedestrians. I also wanted the lightness of the fallen brown leaves in Central Park. Central Park was my rest spot. I bought myself a churro, but had to throw it away after one bite. I know churros are not supposed to be that stale. I did manage to finish a hot dog…it was okay…considering I had only had a coffee all day, my body thanked me for the effort. All the city noise was reduced to the sound of the horseshoes and carriages carrying tourists. I laid on a big rock, and I breathed in New York. It was clear Manhattan’s breathing spot is Central Park. I could have grabbed a cab, but decided to let my exhausted feet carry me back to the hotel. I had just experienced a sort of break-up. It was that part in the plot where the tragic hero loses. I never wanted to be a character in that kind of story. Back in my hotel room (covered entirely in a hideous pink wall-paper), I sat by the window next to an undone bed…I was thanking the city for holding me together for a day, for teaming up with my viewpoint at the time, and for giving me a window to come undone.
So thank you, New York. ❤