I am reluctant to write about my move. Mostly, because my move has landed me in New York. Something I have noticed is that New Yorker's love to read about themselves as a collective whole, or rather, a collective hole. It is indeed a narcissistic culture, which in my mind's eye is not a criticism, seeing that I myself, am prone to narcism. What this all boils down to quite plainly is that so much has been written about what this city does and feels and surges and produced and what can be observed and done here, that I am left hesitant to be one of those wandering New York kind of writers. Its been said, its been said.
However, the city has been kind to me. I could very well go on about cultural oddities, savvy spots and where I've been eating but I have found more so in the past couple of weeks that you can take the girl out of the midwest, but you can't take the midwest out of the girl. In the end, it is just a city, like any other. With people like any other. I believe that when amazing things happen to you, its the company that you keep that fuels the engine.
So here I am, shacked up in Queens with a midwestern boy with two different colored green eyes, who treats me kindly. Wearing what I wore in Minneapolis, saying what I said in Minneapolis, just saving gas money by taking trains to work. All placidness aside, there are a few features of this city that delight me thus far. First, there are many stretches of blocks with chain-link fencing down the entire sidewalk, which I love to run my fingertips along, fighting the impulse as my hand becomes numb, to pull away and rescue my tactile senses from a benign torture. For so many blocks I find this simple way to challenge myself, its become a kind of game. Often, by the time I get to the train I fumble around a bit to get my metro card out because I cannot feel my right hand for a moment.
The other simple pleasure I have come to enjoy happens every morning and evening when I'm waiting for my train. No matter what the weather is outside, it seems that in the summer the air in the subway system is hot and dense and stale. It gets stifling as you wait for the train. And then when the tunnel shakes a bit I put down my book and stand up from the bench in anticipation. I walk to the edge of the platform and watch the lights barrel down the tunnel. Finally as the train approaches a tremendous wind rushes by and my wild rats nest of a mane flies all over the place and my skirt hovers around my legs just slightly and I shut my eyes tight and for a moment it feels like I'm back in the midwest waiting for a storm of that certain midwestern variety to start. You know, the kind that look green and make you think the world is about to end, when dogs howl all day just before and cats hiss at the window all night after.