Moving to the city of dreams and conflict and despair and delight and all the opportunities in the world (and I mean ALL of them) known as NYC is where I was able to realize that all of these downs create a sort of spotlight making it easier to view the light coming in.
The tiniest interactions with such a broad scope of humanity would suddenly balance out a totally shitty day of having to convince a stranger to swipe you into the subway because your credit card got stolen, and then getting stuck waiting for an hour on the freezing cold platform with a coat that just wasn’t made for this shit and you just want to cry and call your family or your friends in LA and go somewhere more like home (ok you’re already crying lets be real) but then you feel eyes on you and you look over and there’s a 90 year old man with wrinkles as deep as his love holding up a rosary saying a prayer for you and you know this man has been in your shoes a thousand times and still gets up every day to keep on going, so you wipe your tears, pick up your three bags (wait wasn’t there four?) and get on the train, realizing the person you sat down next to actually thinks your a bag lady you’re so disheveled and to be quite honest, maybe you are. At least for now. And is that really so bad?
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