Today has been one of those days. When I wear the same exact skirt as my new Muslim friend. Where I get all my session notes entered before 4. And stroll the neighborhoods of Brooklyn with a friend and her dog. Homemade pop-tarts. Jewish Sukkahs. Streets with so many trees you can’t hear the houses or see the train. You just walk. Through this community. and that. Teenagers chillin on the porch, late for synagog 100 feet from a man in white waiting for the bus. Perhaps he’s headed to the mosque. And, suddenly, you feel connected all over again.
The magic of New York is it’s size. The diversity that crams together. The population sampling of the world you pass in just a single day. And to feel part of it. To breathe with it. To sleep on the train and know when to awake, almost instinctively, as if your body counts the stops until it wakes you. Familiar with the routine. Familiar with the madness.
But when that routine changes? Oh the insanity that ensues. The identity crisis. Why did I stay here? Whatever am I doing rubbing so many shoulders this way?
So, in times like this, I need days like today. When the magic of New York returns with one leisurely walk. And my heart finds a way to reconnect with my brain. And I remember that I’m here because I love it. The shoulder rubbing. The stair hiking. The lesson planning and 1/2 nights of prayer at church. I’m here because I love it. Not every day. And not all at once. But we all need to be a part of something. And for now, I’m a part of New York. And I love that.