Wednesday, January 29, 2014
the way i see it: be authentic.
It was an uneventful event, and certainly nothing worth writing poetry about, but it was clear that the city had done something to our friendship in the month since he arrived. It's what the city always did to friends reunited after weeks and months apart: it changed things--at first for the better, then later for the worst. Somewhere along the way, it changed us as individuals too, and whether that effect was positive or not remains still to be seen.
I don’t think it takes much to feel shunned in a city of outcasts, but it sure takes a lot to feel part of the pulse that beats beneath Manhattan's soaring skyline. The city has a steady heart, and the more blood, sweat, and tears you pump into it, the more alive you eventually feel.
It takes everything in your soul some days to feel alive, but God—when you feel it, you feel it: that moment when the city feels as indestructible as your resolve to survive in it.
Authenticity is not elusive, but it sure is hell to find.