MIND, BODY, NYC.

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.