I have lived in NYC for about 2 years now, yet I still don't feel particularly chummy with it.
When I am stressed, or tired, or sick, or blue, NYC can seem not just un-chummy, but downright hostile. The sounds are too loud, the sights too bright, the people too many, and the smells too smelly. Homesickness rises up like a tight ball in my throat and I wonder, how can a person still feel lonely, smack-dab in the center of a teeming multitude of 8 million souls?
My rational mind tells me that it's just that I'm stressed, or tired, or sick, or blue. I tell myself that this challenge, this living in a place that is so different from the place where I grew up, is stretching my mind and my heart like one of those impossible yoga positions where your feet are on top of your head or your nose reaches out for your toes.
My mom always told me that one of the secrets of happiness is learning to bloom where you're planted. I’m trying. And to that end, I'm setting myself a project. I am going to venture out of my everyday routines and well-worn paths, and attempt to get chummy with NYC. Find some beauty and do my best to capture it with my camera.
And I'm hoping that the fairy who sprinkles creative energy and inspiration on me while I sleep will return sometime soon, so that the crafting will pick up again. She can be an elusive little thing.