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We drive three hours in monsoon rain before crossing into the Bronx and a tollfree bridge onto Lexington Avenue in Harlem. Home. We meander down the avenue as the rain slows, jump onto the FDR, and veer into the East Village when the slick streets are black, the Sunday night quiet. I drop them off and snake up and down the streets, content just to be there, marveling at how different an avenue can look from another point of view. The fear washes off, there's a calm in my chest. New York is a gift even when you do not expect it. I find a little nook near my writing bar and nestle in, wondering what the Universe was trying to tell me even though I haven't asked much of it lately.

I walk around the block to my little stoop behind the fish sign and I know it. 

Everything is a numbers game. Keep driving until the spot appears and then take it. Keep showing up until your chance arrives and then you are ready for it. 

When you are ready for it, the fear is rendered mute. The Universe rewards those who keep going.