a note.

 The air is cold now. Scarves are a necessity rather than a fashionable accessory and my hands need to be warmed from the walks outside. It is months like these when I feel the absence of my sweet friend; one whose hands are always warm. That saying about the one that has cold hands is the one with a warm heart can only go so far. In my experience, it is possible to have both. I walk down the street next to Central Park when I am on the way home from work. I get to see small pieces of the zoo and parts of the field where people rest and read. The leaves are beginning to change and the trees sway their branches in the wind allowing the sun to peek through.
  Some days I just want to walk. It is a long trek to go from 70th to 34th; though some days it feels like it only takes a minute. With the right shoes and coat, one could walk anywhere. The smell of the sugared nuts wafts through the air as I pass the street vendors and each time I tell myself, "next time I will give in." Elderly couples hold hands while taking their afternoon stroll and the young hustle to their next generation. There must be something that we miss at this age. Perhaps we do not learn enough from the generation that was before us.
  At 59th I give in and head down into the subway station. This is partly due to the fact that passing "Strand" bookstore that sets up their booths just past the station is always too tempting. So onto Midtown I travel. I would recommend having a few dollars on hand when taking the long way home. A treat never hurts the journey.
  I hope this travels from cold hands to warm hearts. Enjoy the fall.

Currently Listening: "Homesick" by Kings of Convenience (How Fitting.)

upper east side.

One afternoon I took the six line uptown until I arrived at 68th street. I walked up the stairs, out of the subway station, and was surrounded by a large group of twenty-somethings engaged in conversation and lighting up cigarettes. The brisk air and beginnings of fall had people wrapped in scarves with their jackets stiffly zipped up over the layers of clothing. The free hands of the smokers were shoved into pockets trying to avoid the cold. Much of the city is filled with the stench of tobacco that rises up and out of the glowing, amber ashes. With a remnant of smoke in my nose, I decided to continue North towards the seventies and so I went up Lexington Avenue. Once I passed 70th street, the demographics changed and I was surrounded by only mothers, or nannies, with some young children. One little girl in a pink coat and tennis shoes called out to “Rosie,” who I assume was her nanny, asking her to wait while she practiced her dance routine in the reflection of the Juicy Couture display windows. The little girl showed no admiration for the items lit up behind the glass and I could not help but wonder how long it would be before that changed. Rosie graciously waited for the routine to get to the exciting finale and clapped for the girl as though it were the first time she had seen the show. Rosie clasped her coat at her neck and took the girl’s hand and they headed East. 

I decided to weave in and out of the avenues and streets to see more of the architecture in the area. The buildings were lower there and had an array of designs. Tall, glass-covered buildings from Midtown and the financial district were replaced with slivers of various colonial-style houses. It looked as though someone had cut portions out of those large homes and spliced them together on the streets of the seventies. Some sections were made of brick and some of stone, which created a small sense of individuality. With such small space in the city, there is little room for gardens and certainly no room for a backyard. Some of the steps leading up to the houses were adorned with bright yellow and burnt orange mums and round pumpkins greeted visitors at the doors. The buildings were inviting. It felt like communities of people lived in these homes unlike the thousands of people that simply coexist on hundreds of floors in apartment buildings across midtown.

I suddenly noticed the vacancy of the streets as I walked. There were no people. It could have been due to the time of day that I decided to go, but it was strange. The further North I meandered, the less city noise I heard. Car horns were replaced with a restful silence. I could even hear the click of the green lights changing to yellow and then red. Yellow taxis turned into black, private car-service vehicles and I felt the cold air settling into my coat. I was traveling towards 75th street when I looked to my right and noticed a coffee shop with a sign saying “Joe.” I chose to purchase their seasonal hot apple cider and was relieved to find that I had a few dollars in my wallet to pay at the cash-only establishment. Back out into the cold, I held my cup close and continued North. Extravagant boutiques lined the streets and I looked at the merchandise knowing I could never afford it and would never have an occasion to wear such attire. 

That part of town pulled me out of the rush of Midtown and provided an atmosphere of slower pace and leisure. I enjoyed the lower buildings. It was a friendly part of town and I felt less like a number and more like a person.

Currently Listening: "One Red Thread" by Blind Pilot

the line.

I walk on a fine line in this city. I walk on one that divides my emotions somewhere between enamored and frustrated. These streets can do it to you. If nowhere else in the world can do it, New York City can.
  I travel home and with each step I notice the concrete sidewalk sparkling. It could have been the unique way that sunlight refracts off of the glass buildings here. I saw it shimmer like the glitter on the floor of a New Year's celebration. To my left, Bryant Park sits taking up a block of real estate and serving as a trace of nature among the crowds of 42nd street. Men, young and old, gather around the cafe in the park to learn the art of chess. They created an amateur-friendly place where even the freshest beginner can practice his growing passion. In a month or two, the green lawn, where the Thursday yoga classes just finished, will become a sheet of ice. City-dwellers and visitors will flock to the already crowded area to experience the holidays on an ice-skating rink. I am not excluded from the group of individuals that has dreamed of doing just that. I walk a bit further and the retail chain continues. Corporations, along with "mom and pops," border each block.

  It is all right there; the richest CEO and the homeless man juxtaposed on the corner of the street. Normalcy prevents the homeless from even approaching the black suit and tie. I am sure that feelings of inferiority and failure surface when that moment comes. They beg. Everywhere, they ask for means to ride the subway or voice their need of food. I guess it is hard to know what is helping. Does ignoring the problem make a difference? Does appeasing and supplying an apparent need help? These are thoughts that I tend to struggle with.
  Overwhelming is a good description. It is all encompassing and consuming. Sheer number alone, of people, places, sights, shows and opportunity galore covers each block. It is that time when school work is piled high and the most I get out is for riding the Subway to school or an early run to East River Park. I would recommend that run. The other morning the air was brisk and it carried me through the dimly lit streets. There will be more time. My loved ones keep telling me that it takes time. I am starting to believe them. Quite possibly, I expect too much of myself. It is one of those notions that is acknowledged but not always addressed. That too is a learning curve.
  We all need grace, even if it is giving it to ourselves. My sweet love reminded me today that I have never done this before. By "this" he meant moving to another state, taking on a very rigorous school load, working in a new environment, making new friends, living with roommates, and the list continues to encompass a few other things. It is a big step.
  I am pretty confident that I can do it. Maybe if someone asks me how I like the city in December I will reply with joy and a smile. I am working up to it. Don't be afraid to do big things. Don't be afraid to follow the Lord. Don't be afraid to not have it all together. That's all.

Currently Listening: "Hoquiam" by Damien Jurado

adventure.

  "The good writers are the ones that take the time to write every day," she says. We were wrapped up in discussing memoirs we read for class that day and those words continued to ring in my ears. Every day. I presume that it makes no difference if it is a well thought out piece of prose, or just the observation of what is around me. Writing does not seem like the type of art that you need to practice. Most of us place it into the category of being "gifted." The more I think about the words my teacher spoke that day, the more I agree with the proposition. Life is in no way mundane. I recently moved to New York City.. My days are full of new experiences and surprises. In hopes of becoming stronger in my writing, the challenge ensues. 

  What was meant to be a subway ride to the end of a transitional tunnel where the trains turn around turned out to be a happenstance wandering into Little Italy. It just so happened that a festival was going on and every street and restaurant in the sector were displaying their pride. Banners were displayed across streets. Street carts full of goodies lined the avenues and perked our interest enough to purchase a cannoli. We meandered along taking in all of the decoration, excited that our venture lead us into this part of the city. It was different there. Out of all the places in the city I have been, Little Italy felt the safest. It could be attributed to the family-friendly atmosphere that most Italians carry. It also could be the fact that I am finally settling into this place. No, not yet will I say that it is home, but I will gladly concede that it is feeling more like it. Something as simple as remembering where a subway station is, or taking the right train home, builds confidence in this way of life. 

  Could I be a city girl? I am not sure if I can leave my Southern roots back in the peach state and I doubt Southern charm ever hurt anyone.

Currently Listening: "England" by The National

i live here.

 It is no longer something talked about across the dinner table. It has left the category of a prospect and has shifted to reality. I live in New York City. I hear the sounds of sirens down on 34th while I am trying to fall asleep. I wake up to two roommates milling about in our quaint apartment. Personal space has been reduced to my person and that includes being on the streets of Manhattan.
  The question that often comes to mind when speaking to new classmates is, "Did you ever think you would end up in New York City?" I presume it surfaces due to the fact that I scarcely thought of this city, apart from a visit at Christmas time, as a place to call home. Home is more of a sacred term these days. Not to say that the city lacks charm, in many ways I enjoy it. There is just something about those people you love. Without even speaking you are confident of the way they value you. I know full well I am supported. Support just tends to come in the form of phone calls and skype sessions as opposed to hugs and the physical presence.
  In a city stuffed with millions of people from every walk of life, it amazes me how lonely one can feel.  Tears have flooded and fallen from my eyes more than once in this past week. In some moments I have verbally asked myself, "What am I doing here?" It is about an eternal perspective. It is about learning what it is like to trust the Lord when my bank account looks the way it does. If for nothing other than becoming a stronger woman of God, it would be enough.
  I made the mistake of asking the Lord to "do big things" in my life. That is a silly statement. Walking with the Lord for a while now, I know that asking the Lord for big things merely gives Him the opportunity to show His faithfulness to His children in a unique way. Apparently, not everyone in New York City is living by faith, believing the Lord to provide for his or her schooling; it just so happens to be the path I am traversing. If I believe that my God is the "God of the impossible," then I can continue to trust that not one thing I step into is too much for Him to handle. It's a journey, a precious one that can be robbed of its pleasure if we aren't careful.

Currently Listening: "England" by The National

two days.

  It is all too surreal. This feeling of wandering between two homes I assume will become a familiar one. Friends and loved ones shall remain here as I whisk off to the northern part of the country for my first step of a grand adventure. Without any clue as to what the Lord might be up to apart from attending an upstanding, business-casual wearing college in the heart of the financial district in New York City, I will move. The last days are filled with confused emotions accompanied by intermittent high's and low's. In speaking with veteran travelers, this seems to be normal. The funny thing is that normalcy is exactly what this is not. Packing all of my belongings to set out on my own is quite contrary to the life I have meandered these past nineteen years. If I had foreshadowed the volume involved in my packing,  I might have adjusted my spending in recent years.
  Pile on the logistics coupled with emotion coming from selling my very first car I bought only five short months ago. I find yet another area for myself to release control and believe that the One that holds me in the palm of His hand knows my needs. Craigslist is uncharted territory along with any idea on how to sell a car. Pressure for funds and more emotion in tow, I remember that all I can do is keep walking. "All I have needed, Thy hand hath provided." Words from hymns robotically sung on Sunday mornings cover my heart.
  Set aside the forming my belongings into tetris pieces sorted into boxes and phones calls and emails coming in concerning my car, compared to relationships those are simple. There is not enough time. Even in the best attempts to budget and shuffle, I come up in the red. No, forever is not to be forfeited, but feeling disappointment is difficult to bare. I am confident that the closest people love me. I do not question the support they give to me. Maybe the trick is getting better at this in time. Frankly, the more I reason and say that the packing will require less brain power and I won't have to dole out as many funds to things I will "need," I cannot believe that saying goodbye to any loved one for an extended season becomes automatic.
  Take my thoughts or leave them. Throughout this season I trust that may more will flow.

Currently Listening: The last quiet sounds of nights in the suburbs.

a cycle.

  It is an inevitable cycle of today's worries passing into tomorrow's unknowns. Our energy is funneled into an emotional state of what could be and we, not purposefully, shut ourselves down. In most cases it is do to the inability to deal with the weight of uncertainty. We don't have to suffer below this gravity. I more often than not forget that I possess the power that conquered the grave within me. I have received a power that healed sickness, faced temptation and chose life, and carried the weight of sin so that I would not have to. I have been blessed on numerous accounts throughout my life. In a moment of heightened fear, I suddenly forget the truth that I have been taken care of. I always have what I need.
  I am learning. Nine days.

Currently Listening: "The Ballad of Love and Hate" by The Avett Brothers