There used to be a natural movement
in New York City.
A pedestrian rhythm.
Everyone walking to the same beat.
Following the same unspoken, never
written, rules.
Only in Times Square did the chaos
and uncertainty of map-ridden tourists force you to slow down,
re-direct, dart and pivot.
Now - everyone's heads
are down. Phone in hand. Texts in motion.
Not looking. Not watching.
Not present.
Let's pick our heads up. Walk
upright and be mindful of the world around us.
I can't hear the beat of New York
anymore and the silence is deafening.
As a high-schooler, more than a decade ago, I felt on top of the world
walking around New York City. Feeling a sense of belonging, as if I had just
heard about the coolest, newest, hippest club in town - and not only did I have
the address - but I was given the password to the VIP room.
I would pound the city streets like a pro at just 16 years old - bobbing
and weaving. I was a part of something greater - something alive.
I once likened coming back to NYC after some time in Los Angeles as
"being awakened by a defibrillator after my heart had stopped"
As if once I had put my feet down on the city sidewalk, someone from the
Heavens yelled "Clear!" and I could breathe again.
And yet slowly but surely I feel that energy slipping away. New Yorkers
are silent, motionless, deadened. We are sleeping while we walk. Not looking up
to notice that a barrage of Duane Reades, Chase Banks, Starbucks' and
Ricky's beauty stores have taken over our city. What was once a haven for the
creative, unique and obscure intellectual - seems now bland, uniform, and
boring.
I long for the days when New Yorkers ignored the crazy drag queen/clown
walking beside them by choice, rather than missing it because they
were too busy winning that last level of Angry Birds.
I am missing the New York where culture and individuality reigned
supreme. Where coffee-shop baristas knew your name, and people who owned
vintage clothing shops wore those threads when they were popular the first time
around.
But then again…
I don't miss the smell.
I don't miss the garbage.
And I don't miss the porno shops.
I will never miss the honking. I do miss the fleeting few Guiliani years
when the streets were quiet.
I like a safe Central Park. I feel good walking home at night.
I want to use my credit card, instead of quarters at a meter – that’s nice.
And yet still, I don't want to bump into one more person because they are
texting and walking.
Put your phone away.
The email can wait.
Look up.
Breathe.
It's nice up here.
I promise.
