I think I've lived a million lives in the past two+ weeks. After a year of having one foot in and one foot out of New York, I finally moved out of my apartment in Bushwick. I had conversations in the street with my Puerto Rican neighbors, who lent me their grocery cart so I could take packages to the post office and told me, I'm gonna miss you, girl. I discovered that the person who dumped me two months ago can always find new ways to be cruel, but that I have an entire orbit of friends who will drop everything to offer counsel, corroboration, indignation, home-cooked meals, irresponsible amounts of alcohol, their sofas, and the keys to their apartments. I left my belongings in piles around the neighborhood and they were whisked away to new homes, so evidence of my existence there lives on in the paleontology of my cups and bowls and clothes. On my last day in the city I bawled into the arms of my yoga teacher. Two weeks spent mired in the meditative state of subway travel, practicing yoga every day, feeling emotionally raw but receiving kindness from all around, I feel like I came out at the end of the tunnel wiser and also kinder.
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