Thursday, April 8, 2010

The goal was New York City. Growing up, my family would see the Rockettes perform at Radio City Music Hall at Christmastime. I was terrified of the city, actually. I can remember the relief that surged through my veins as our car rolled away from the slums and under the tunnels, enveloping us under the cityscape that Woody Allen described as best being seen in black and white, showcasing a broken horizon with the twin buildings on our right. Something about this terror I felt toward the city grew in me a curiosity for it. Over time I realized my fear was for the mass of dejected denizens we passed, curled up in cardboard boxes with blankets of soggy newspaper. My fear was that these people would never know what life was really about, what it could be. But even more than that, it made me wonder if I knew what life was about, shielded in by the tinted windows of a warm, sans-newspaper vehicle. Through those windows I could see their eyes. They could see mine too. It was the loneliness in those people’s demoralized glances that scared me and constantly tore at me to return. For some reason I just always felt that if I were there with them maybe we’d all understand everything a little bit more. 

{photo credit: Walk In New York}

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