January 6, 2008 § 3 Comments
You know, there are still moments when I pinch myself. Like when I look up and see the Chrysler building looming overhead, or when I’m cabbing over the Brooklyn Bridge, or when I go out for a smoke and spot a breakdance crew working a crowd on Fifth Avenue. At these moments, I still can’t quite believe I’m here.
It’s not just being in New York City, but how it is I got here. Each day, I walk into an historic building and go to work, and it’s work that I’ve remembered that I love. I shoot the shit with the archivists and the security staff; I rifle through yellowing papers and find things in them that excite me; I make notes as I go along and can’t wait to make use of them somehow. Incredibly, this feels like what I do.
The best part is, I can sense what I’m working on every time I walk down the street. The city is noisy and relentlessly alive, and, no matter how many signs are posted admonishing silence, it always will be. Here, I can hear it all through walls that bleed sound just as they bleed cold, walls that were meant for different residents than the ones they shelter now. And, city-kid that I am, I don’t mind at all.