Longing for New York City

I recently took a trip to New York. I did the things I usually do which is sit in random cafes, eat bagel and egg sandwichs, drink overpriced coffee and do an absurd amount of people watching. There is something about New York that is so amazingly beautiful and so incredibly ugly that catches my heart in a way no other place does. There is something about New York that distinguishes it from any other city; there are many things actually. It's the sheer amount of people. The incredibly diverse faces in the massive masses overwhelm me and cause me to pause on the subject of what it means to be human. There are so many variations in New York. There's the guy in Union Square who blasts his music from Flashdance and proceeds to twist and contort his body in ways that ancient Indian yogis would envy. There's the man who cross-dresses in addition to celebrating St. Patrick's day with her (his?) dyed green hair and leprechaun shoes. There's the vendors from New Jersey and elsewhere who, every week, bring their wares to the city and make a spread that ranges from homemade goat's cheese and freshly picked lima beans to free fashion advice and poorly painted watercolors. There's the highschool kids just out of school cursing and sweating, schlepping their enormous bags around, one ear plugged with ipod headphones. There's the homeless man asleep on someone's stoop while 100 feet away people dine and discuss the economy over expensive wine. There's Wall Street and the East Village, there's avenue C and poetry cafes and Egyptian street vendors selling hot dogs and bands jamming out the sounds of the blues, the sounds of the city, the very sounds that make up the lifeblood of New York and take part in telling her story.

Though I've never lived there and probably never will, there is a part of me that always aches for New York. When I meet people from there (really from there), I instantly want to know their story. I want to hear about the grit, the noise, the endless stream of activity and life. In my mind, there simply is no place like New York. It exists in a category of its own. It's untouchable in that way, and yet, always changing. It's been accused of being superficial and shallow, congested and dirty. I see that and yet, I also see this incredible beauty despite of (maybe because of) these qualities. I can't explain it though I desperately want to. It's a feeling I have when I'm there and when I think of it. It's the feeling I get everytime upon entering the city on that Greyhound bus. It's a feeling that anything is possible and, because anything is possible, it's this spine-tingling mixture of excitement and dread. New York is a strange kind of soul elixir. She shakes us up a bit, stirs our cauldron and lights us up with her fiery breath. I feel inspired, dazed, moved and always aching for more and yet begging for her to stop enticing me through the streets, my calves and feet practically paralyzed with exhaustion. I want to swallow her up and I want her to fill me. New York is life - ugly, dirty, marvelous, moving, dancing...And here's a little piece of it I wanted to share. Union Square one random afternoon. The sun is shining, people are dancing and clapping. Just another day in New York City.