Zen in the City

Dylan-Thomas-at-White-Horse-Tavern-by-Bunny-Adler1-1917x1940When I got to New York City, I feel a little like Dylan Thomas in London: intoxicated, yet feeling every vibration of life within the city. I know no one, yet I feel on some level, I know everyone. I become fast friends with the Steeler fans in a tavern in Hell’s Kitchen: for a few hours, a20180114_125736 common experience.

Feeling the wind blow through me, standing on the bleachers in Times Square: the lights, the sounds, the feeling that I’m part of something that has a pulse and an energy that banishes all the depression and anger and soullessness in me – for a while.

20171219_163410The streets are alive like no other city I’ve been too. Strangely, I never feel alone. Even the hotel doorman is a kindred spirit.

My habit of going to my front door every hour or so to make sure the world outside my home is safe disappears here. Even in the dankest subway, I feel safe. It makes no sense whatsoever to me. I just feel what I feel.

Uptown, downtown, Central Park. I can find a place to relax and stare in wonder any time.

New York is better than Cymbalta. Not one person in three visits has made me ill at ease. People have places to go, things to do. I blend in.

The Strand Bookstore – an amazing place where I rub shoulders with people who really care about what to read. I picked up a few graphic novels – something I’ve always wanted to do and with the selection offered, I was almost paralyzed by the number of options.

Skipping along the tree lines streets of the Upper West Side humming a Simon and Garfunkel song (so many New York songs) and somehow I understood how the city has

upper_west_side_evolutionbeen America’s creative muse for over a century. There are a million stories here, waiting to be unlocked. The streets, the buildings, the museums, the subway – all resonate with enough history to fill countless museums.

And yet, I know this is a fantasy. I am a tourist, albeit a bewitched one. I cannot afford to live here, Hell, I almost can’t afford to visit as much as we have. I know there is crime, poverty, Fox News.

But from the time I enter the tunnel until the time I leave, I feel like I’ve been in a world where I belong; a place I don’t get panic attacks or sudden deep mood changes — Just sore feet on occasion.

I can’t wait to go back.


This entry was posted in Borderline Personality Disorder, BPD, depression, Distractions, Happiness, mental health, New York City and tagged , . Bookmark the permalink.

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