The Washington Bridge

New York throws punches. It has giant fists, and it throws punches. Sometimes the fists miss you. Sometimes the fists are just a jovial joke, landing softly on your shoulder, accompanied by a smirk. Sometimes they hit you in the stomach. We have not had terribly dramatic things happen, but we have certainly experienced drama—from within NYC culture and without. I cannot really go into the details, especially without consulting Adele—but let's say there are ramifications to being what other people consider “too” social. In addition, there are a whole set of rules and regulations in the bar scene that we were just unaware of. We dove into a culture we were not socialized into, and attempted to see “from the native's point of view.” We thought we understood what was going on, but we didn't really fully grasp it. That happens a lot in life, though. Everyone has their individual narratives, and the other people around them fit into their individual narratives, while they fit into the other people's individual narratives. Sometimes it seems that two or more people know each other so very well that the narratives are intertwined—sometimes it seems that way to one person's individual narrative, while the other person--say, a husband--has been having extra-marital affairs for 10 years. Do narratives ever intertwine?

We're both sick of the city. We're both out of money. To immerse ourselves in the scene, we needed to “do as the Roman's do”-- i.e. spend a lot of money on drinks. It's not the niche that either of us want to be in. We both don't even like alcohol much. I dislike it more than Adele does. I love being healthy, climbing mountains, eating vegetables, dancing, collaborating on fun projects, playing music, bike-riding, laughing – I do not need alcohol to do these things. The kinds of people that I want to meet and socialize with are generally not those who frequent bars. But, how can you become a musician without this scene? It seems so dreadfully important—this is where people meet and socialize, this is how people develop a fan-base. I probably won't become a musician, then. It will forever be a hobby of mine.

These are the years that are set aside in life for experimentation, and I definitely feel like this month (or these three weeks) has been an incredibly rewarding experience and experiment. It's important to push your boundaries, to push your comfort zones. I would not have chosen to live in Washington Heights, but it has taught me to be much more conscious of race and class. For once in my life I am living somewhere where I am the minority. I am one of very few white faces in a sea of brown, and my family is by no means rich, but we certainly have more money than the people who live in this area.

Last night I went on a walk by myself as the sun was setting. I walked across the Washington Bridge and just looked out at all of the buildings—the New York skyline. I watched as the hazy twilight turned to dark, as the lights in the buildings flickered on a couple at a time. They looked like stars—the buildings were like individual galaxies containing them. The cars zoomed by, brushing me with the air that they were displacing. Car horns, helicopters. But I still heard silence. Behind everything: silence. I guess it was the silence of distance—the buildings were so far away, reflected onto a body of water that I'm sure is filthy, but looked glimmeringly pristine. There are so many busy little people in those buildings. So much stratification of wealth from one area to the next area—buildings that were only a few inches away in my line of vision. I saw the big picture. I was, for a moment, distanced from New York—no longer attempting to be a part of the scene, no longer a temporary resident... temporarily an on-looker. It reminded me of the movie Baraka. This whole experience, in fact, reminds me of that movie. I'm not sure how I feel about it, but I know that I miss farms and woods and animals and smiling faces. I'm ready to go home. I'm ready to re-establish myself and re-find myself in Germany.