There are 35 tabs open in my browser. They tell me everything there is to know about living one's best life -- in New York, in poverty, in a pandemic. They do not tell of how to get through a downpour at Veselka on a Monday night. Do not tell how to keep your shoes dry in the floods, how to tip a server who gives you the beers for free because he can not deliver them to you, do not tell you how to make it home without losing some of your dignity on first street after months of drought. Your roommate tells you she has to move back in with her parents, it's a cruel year. The other roommate brings home chocolate from a wedding shower that was secretly a baby shower, it's a surprising year but aren't they all. You remind yourself not to exist as someone else's puzzle piece but it's hard when they like so much how your edges fit. You like to fit.
Your mother asks if you want to come west to pick up a car, pick up your heirlooms, pick up a life. Your roommate tells you she's moving out. You wonder what else is next.
Vow to see the adventure, rather than the edge of the cliff.
No comments:
Post a Comment