11/25/08, NYC's Not Finished with Me

In the midst of the concrete jungle yesterday, infested with people pouring out of every nook and cranny, and myself momentarily weighed down by an unwelcomed cloud of gloominess, NYC finally got a hold of me. As I was bee-lining towards my destination downtown in the hustle and bustle around Madison Square Gardens, irritated by the people of the opposite direction getting in my way, and stressed about silly life scenarios, I glanced over to my right and caught a glimpse of a woman seated on the sidelines of the chaos, intensely smoking a cigarette. In that instant I found myself wanting what she had...a cigarette... in a stolen moment of time... Say WHAT???! I completely caught myself offguard, as this was definitely a first of a lifetime experience--I've never smoked anything in my entire life, let alone had a desire to.

"Is NYC getting to me?"

Perhaps it was due to a restless night's sleep thanks to our neurotic cat, or perhaps it was due to the fact that our apartment has been wreaking of Clarkston, WA's Potlatch Papermill the past week as a rat decays in the wall between our bedroom and bathroom... :( Whatever the reason, that moment was a turning point in my NYC trial run. Up until yesterday, I had been feeling obligated to like NYC. To "make it work." I hadn't allowed myself the freedom to dislike it, to acknowledge that maybe NYC is NOT for me. But I've only been here a month and a half! I respect and honor the incredible diversity here, it truly is a microcosm of the world! But it truly takes a helluva lot of energy to accomplish even the simplest of tasks. Quite frankly, I am WORN OUT!! I desire simplicity. A slower pace. Yet I also desire this exposure to diversity and culture. Are these desires compatible? Can you have simplicity in the midst of such diversity? Is a slower pace of life possible in this incredible cutural hub? I suppose I am overwhelmed because I am still in the sampling stages of my transition, still discovering what sorts of opportunities NYC has to offer me: discerning career path, grad school programs, volunteer opportunies, language immersions, sampling restaurants, running clubs and so on. As my two month trial period nears its end, NYC has not become comfortable for me. I have not found my niche. Though I feel like I am constantly on the verge of discovery... I'm reminded of a favorite quote of mine,

"Awe, not comfort...

And Awe suddenly passing beyond Itself.

Becomes a form of comfort."

True that NYC is not comfortable for me, but what is wrong with a little discomfort? With that said, I have just purchased my return ticket to NYC after Xmas break.

I am not finished with NYC....or is NYC not finished with me?

I feel like the above statements are in contradiction to one another. Who will win out? Me or NYC? If I am to conquer, I imagine it to be when I decide that I've learned all I need from NYC, that I'll have come and conquered myself I suppose, but in a good way, with more clarity for my future. I'll take with me wisdom and insight into myself. But if NYC conquers me, be forewarned that I will return hardened and edgey, wearing skinny jeans in furry boots, my pets will all wear sweaters and mittens, I'll talk incessantly about Dulce & Gabonna and Louie Vatton (and be able to spell them! sorry Alex!), and be sure that I will be smoking a cigarette!

Cheers! And Thanksgiving wishes,
:) HT

PS: Here is a copy of the poem that I've extracted the favorite quote from above. Feel free to read the quote in its context. I love it!__________________________________________

To Live in the Mercy of God, by Denise Levertov

To lie back under the tallest
oldest trees. How far the stems
rise, rise
before ribs of shelter
open!

To live in the mercy of God. The complete
sentence too adequate, has no give.
Awe, not comfort. Stone, elbows of
stony wood beneath lenient
moss bed.

And awe suddenly
passing beyond itself. Becomes
a form of comfort.
Becomes the steady
air you glide on, arms
stretched like the wings of flying foxes.
To hear the multiple silence
of trees, the rainy
forest depths of their listening.

To float, upheld,
as salt water
would hold you,
once you dared. .

To live in the mercy of God.

To feel vibrate the enraptured

waterfall flinging itself
unabating down and down
to clenched fists of rock.
Swiftness of plunge,
hour after year after century,
O or Ah
uninterrupted, voice
many-stranded.
To breathe
spray. The smoke of it.
Arcs
of steelwhite foam, glissades
of fugitive jade barely perceptible. Such passion—
rage or joy?
Thus, not mild, not temperate,
God's love for the world. Vast
flood of mercy
flung on resistance.