While my previous post was a rather dreary and miserable return to WP, I’d just like to clarify that I have never known true depression. It is not an affliction with which I wish to endure under pretense. No, so many beautiful people suffer from its drowning pressures, and I do not want to pretend for a second that I can comprehend what that’s like.
Rather, I am here in an emotional trench, similarly deep and solid as the icy pathways outside this winter. It is difficult to find the motivation to step into that freezing, wintry world and travel so many vehicular minutes to my temporary destination working with tomorrow’s children.
I’ve always been hyperaware of the conveniences of living in NYC. Sure, it’s a swampy, overpopulated hellhole with a wonky transit system; but, with proper coordination and ambition, you truly can accomplish ANYTHING once you’re there. You can eat nearly any cuisine your heart desires, and if you can’t get it to-go, you can gather the ingredients to make it yourself. You can get anywhere in the city after a few hours of .. interesting schlepping. Nothing is separated by miles of endless space and grass (ok, yes, nature is beautiful, but I succumb to boredom rather easily!) You adapt to people and situations at the drop of a hat. You can meet anyone from anywhere and absorb new information: points of view, concepts, linguistic particulates, magical bus routes, urban fauna and flora, exercise routines, spices, abandoned buildings, specialized bookstores, immigration history, the political fog… in NYC, whether it’s your hometown or not, you are a perpetual learner.
Similarly, while traveling, you are a perpetual learner. Abroad, you are learning a new culture and about your own adaptivity. Is it safe to say that wanderlust may be partially satiated by simply living in my hometown?