New York, New York

This week is the first time I've been back to New York since the move, and I spent yesterday wandering around Manhattan by myself. I had no place to be except for on the streets, and, for the first time since I moved to the city seven years ago, I felt like an outsider. With no apartment to go home to and no desk to sit behind, I really had no purpose. And because I wasn't distracted by all life's goings-on, I could finally see the city from the outside. The feeling of being here knowing that this place is no longer home is powerful. It's freedom; it's sadness. Every street I walked, every etablishment I entered held a memory. I watched the flurries of people crisscrossing paths in front of me, all hurrying to get to that place they were supposed to be, while I sat there with nothing to do but take it all in. Thing is, when you are one of those scurrying bodies, you long for the moments when you can sit back, relax, and have no plans. Most of the time, those moments are pretty good too.