I woke up in the morning, in a word, hopeful. Motivation in the form of joyful anticipation of good company. Everyday, waking up in NY is a bit surreal, but walking out of the hostel doors and into the city streets is even more surreal The strange realization of my freedom and isolation is frighteningly exhilarating. But I can never shake the feeling of needing to depict a certain image here on the streets of New York. Later in the night, we were talking about the "New York Edge" how it seems like all NYers have an aura about them, an edge, that you don't find anywhere else. A sureness and nonchalance that is completely out of my means of expression. It's actually quite a tiring act to keep up.


Just making my way over to my chosen cafe meeting place that morning was a bit of an internal panic. Perhaps one of my worst nightmares is finally deciding on a place to be and going there and finding out that there's no room to sit. Well, La Colombe Coffee is a tiny little place with maybe 10 seats off to the side of the restaurant and that's assuming that perfect strangers are comfortable with sitting across from each other at a square-foot, triangular table. In my absolute terror I just putter around their selection of coffee and teas and end up buying two sets of teas intended as gifts for people. The place is so busy that the barista actually started just taking people's orders before they got to the counter and I, being caught off guard, said no when she asked if I was ordering a drink.  Thank God my drink selection was easy and seating somehow cleared up just as I finished at the counter.


I quickly sat and then was faced with the next conundrum as to what I was supposed to do while waiting for my friend and coffee. Regardless of what people might say to the contrary, I don't think it's completely socially acceptable to sit and stare off into space for more than 3 minutes. So I took out my journal and began to do what apparently everyone does according to Instagram. Sketch and write. Well... those who know me know I have terrible penmanship, so I was sure the illusion of being a traveling artist would be shattered as soon as anyone took a closer look at my pages. But in a way I was happy, I'm always surprised at how happy I am when I'm drawing or writing, because I never see myself as an artist or a writer. 

My wonderful, wonderful friend arrives and I am floored at the happiness and relief that washes over me when I recognize his familiar face in the crowd. Truly, no one has ever looked so beautiful (I'm only half exaggerating). Small talk and pleasantries never really last long with us, it'll be about 10 seconds of that before we start getting into the real conversation, storytelling. He's always been very no-nonsense.


My backpack is breaking. I buy a new one. It's a bag from STATEbags, they donate a fully stocked backpack to an American child in need for each bag purchased. It's more expensive than I'd have ever imagined paying before; but after living out of a suitcase for a month, I walked into my room and felt an immense amount of pressure from all the CRAP I had. And everything had so little value to me because it was just cheap stuff and there was so much of it. I couldn't keep track of anything, and I didn't want to. So I decided to throw everything out and only keep things that were special and useful.


We met up with another friend for lunch, and as we were talking,walking. and shopping it started snowing pretty heavily and the wind picked up. But I remember walking between them at one point in the horrible weather and feeling so warm inside. What a wonderful privilege to walk in between people you love, and who love you enough to spend a day in a snowstorm with you.




We decide to go for drinks later, because my newly 21 year old self is still pretty engrossed in the idea of storytelling over beer. After all, that's what they did in the old days, right? Kelly was so intent on buying me my first pickleback shot at her favorite bar, but it was so crowded because of the game that we couldn't even really get seats let alone talk or hear each other. At a slightly less crowded bar, we meet up with a videographer who's work I've been loosely following for a while. And I was struck by the peculiar sort of chemistry that happens when humans come together. There were so many amiable interactions that night but I remember sitting in my chair watching my friends, old and new, exchanging perspectives and learning from each other. And I knew that this is what I had come here to do, to witness and be part of these sorts of interactions.



Of course it wasn't all sunshine and daisies all the time. There were small moments that would mar the general feeling of elation in the day, but even with these small moments I found that small victories could be made. A "thank you" for taking a flyer at a fairly aggressive protest. The distance kept when solicitation is firmly ignored. The respect that comes with the expression of complete honesty.


It's enough to make me feel hopeful. That my life and how I live it will make a difference, regardless of how small or weak it might be. But I am part of a generation of people who try (imperfectly) to love and respect and create good. I'll gladly do all I can to be part of that.