It's been such a long time since my last post. It's not because I didn't have time (which I didn't for a while initially), but rather because I didn't know what to write, and more importantly, where to start.
I started my new life in New York, and am a working woman now. Ha! (For some reason I have trouble identifying with the word "woman"... I still feel like a "girl".) Luckily, the transition has been much smoother than what I had imagined it would be, which I'm extremely grateful for.
I'm writing this post right before bed, and I've been feeling on the verge of a cold, so I'm going to keep it brief this time, with the promise that I'll write more regularly from now on.
New York is an interesting city. It's easy to get used to it once you start living here: the noise, the pollution, the buzz, the traffic, tourists, crowds, sidewalks and cabs, and the constant rush of people as they try to get places. I've actively been trying to be mindful of the fact that I live in one of the largest, most exciting cities in the world, one that most people dream of, but unfortunately don't even get a chance to see during their lifetime, so that I don't take any minute of it for granted. However, I must admit that it's challenging at times, especially once you settle into a routine and everything becomes automatic. But I guess that's the case for most people and most things in life...
One thing I've been struggling with about living in the city is the great contrast between different groups of people. Everyday, as I speed walk to catch the subway for work, I walk past at least two or three individuals who have lost their homes, and have been forced to live on the street as a result. It bothers me so much so that I have a sense of guilt and shame as I walk past them with my somewhat decent clothes, my iPhone in my hand, and headphones plugged in... I don't want them to think that they're invisible to me, because they certainly are not. But I don't know what to do, how to approach them, or what to say in the case that I do try and talk to any one of them. I don't want them to think that I feel like I'm in any way superior to them just because I have been lucky enough to live where I live and lead the life that I lead, so I do what everyone else does, and keep marching along while I listen to my iPhone.
What bothers me, though, is my belief in the absence of people at any given moment who think and feel the way I do. I feel like the majority of us are so caught up in doing our own thing in the city, getting to work on time with Starbucks coffee cups in our hands, stressing over futile things, that we forget about the important things. Like what it means to be human, for example. And how we can never fully heal or advance as a society when we are so blind and ignorant of even those individuals who we walk past, but don't even see every single morning.
It's cool to have a job, and easy to get wrapped up in it, to feel like it's the biggest and most important thing in your life, when it's all you do from the moment you wake up until you go to bed, since the moment you graduate, until the moment you retire. But there's something inside me that is just so uncomfortable with that comfortable but hallow lifestyle. I wish there were more people invested in creating a meaningful difference in others' lives (no matter the scale of that difference) than there are those who are invested in becoming richer, and moving up on a staircase of hierarchy that doesn't really lead anywhere exciting, productive, or satisfying.
So, as depressing as these ideas may be, I'm grateful that the city makes me realize the reality, and in a much bolder, stronger, highlighted manner than I have witnessed it any other city, ever before.
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