Something about moving forward
I guess I turn 25 this year
Winter is better in Brooklyn than in Manhattan. We’re still getting into the thick of it, but I just know it. Or maybe it’s me who’s better in Brooklyn. Here I can see shapes in the barren trees instead of meaningless strikes against the sky. I see spider webs, broomsticks, bloodless veins and capillaries, so many reaching and stretching fingers. And the vibrant colors are magnificent, or at least they were today. Most of them are dulled out, but the bright ones sting the eye and stay there, pulsing. Brick painted turquoise, red railings down the playground’s staircase, mauve concrete steps.
And I’ve realized that the brownstones, no matter what color they are, never feel out of place or out of season. They always feel built in, complementing the weather and the mind and the mood. Right now, their colors seem waxy, like they’re covered in a layer of winter sludge, and in spring, they will feel warm and open, like they’re breathing again, blood coursing through them.
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It’s typical, but I’m trying to be me… a clarified, potent, intentional version of me. It’s the new year—the cliche is contagious. But I want to be someone who commits, who builds, who perseveres. Who doesn’t waste away and let my time slip from me. I’ve decided I’m okay with using this time of year as a springboard, even if these attempts might be unsustainable. There’s nothing worse, for my brain and my heart, than not trying.
I’ve been very lucky. Over the holidays, I spent time with family, languorous and cozy and finite, and old friends, comfortable and sometimes unmooring. These relationships can be like walking through a hall of funhouse mirrors, noticing the ways in which you reflect one another and the ways in which you’re stretched, squeezed, and completely unrecognizable.
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Yesterday, when I went to Walgreens, the one on Fulton that looks haphazardly stuffed into the shell of a European train station, I stood in line and kept physically wincing at the light. My eyelids, every minute or so, would crumble into one another. I made sure to clench them really tight before it was my turn at the register so that I wouldn’t wince while checking out.
And I’ve been biting my nails too much, hyperfixating, succumbing to my neuroses. Mostly, I’ve been spending a lot of time wondering and worrying about what my life will look like, and how it will change, in the next six months. It’s already changed so much and it’s not slowing down, it’s actually speeding up, threatening to leave me behind, flailing in the wake. So, I keep going. I refuse to drown.
