I’ve begun to feel a bit strange during the past couple of weeks.
Worrying about the future is nothing new to me—my mother taught me to do that well early on. But this is almost different somehow. I am in a position in my life where agency should be at its apex: no family or long-term occupation to tie me down, What is this ephemeral sense of urgency that overtakes me on the T ride home on an early, radiant Sunday morning?
And now I’m here. At a gay bar. By myself.
It snowed yesterday for the first time in Manhattan. It was brief, and sweet. Almost like a love affair that someone has when glancing at someone else’s eyes in passing: fascinating yet bewildering. Anything and everything experienced in hours and seconds. And then it’s gone. Done. Your eyes go back to the street, and you slowly make your way back to wherever you’re supposed to be.
This holiday season will be the 8th year you are alone. Alone. Alone. Alone. Have you gotten used to it yet? I hope you have. There’s a lesson to be learned here, my dear. Enjoy it as much as you can, because the other things you have yet to learn will not be a joy. It will not. No sir, it certainly will not.
No matter how frustrating New York can be, it still never ceases to mesmerize my soul as its skyline gently kisses my lips in departure.