I’m back in New York City. Back in Manhattan for that matter. I’m back I’m back I’m back I’m back.
There’s still a bit of that “pinch me!” quality going on. Reality isn’t really sinking in because this place doesn’t share very much with reality. It stubbornly defies reality, and somehow seems to continue to get away with it.
The other thing that shocks me is how readily I adapt to life here. Walking through a rapid river of bodies along 34th street or doing laundry at a laundromat where you just about have to climb over other bodies to get to the washing machines to say nothing of finding counter-space to fold your clothes—all of this I take in a casual stride. Most of the people in Los Angeles, when I told them I was returning to Manhattan, could not believe I would take on such an endeavor of my own volition. They shook their heads, saying “I just couldn’t handle the intensity of it all.”
And at times for the past eleven days I’ve sort of glimpsed through their eyes, or at least how I imagine their eyes see things, and I admit I’m amazed—not at how crazy and intense New York City is, but at how little it affects me. Honestly, I’m intimately comfortable and secure here. Much more so than I had been during the last four years in Los Angeles.
I’ll add to the commentary and maybe provide some back-story, but first priority is finishing getting a functional WordPress configuration going so this website is marginally functional.