I love New York City



I can get perspective on my self in New York.

I have a ritual of buying the Sunday New York Times and reading as much of it front to back as time allows on a given Sunday.

If I'm in Europe I usually can't get a hold of an American version of the Sunday NYTs, and that's a total bummer, because the issue they put out in Europe is an international version that is very thin and doesn't include any of the coolest stuff.

But when I'm in America, I find it, I buy it, and I sit down and read it.

All these years of Sundays with the New York Times has taught me many things, but one of those things is that I love thinking of myself as a player on the world stage.

I love thinking of myself as a citizen of the world.

I love thinking about all the people who made mention on any given Sunday as my peers in the world of doers.

I look at the pictures, I read the articles, I think about the people.

Refugee, athlete, politician, banker, business owner, writer, artist.

I am their comrade in the Great Struggle.

On a rare occasion when I find myself in the midst of it all in Manhattan, the teeming madness of all levels of education, privilege, hardship, brilliance and insanity, all swirling around me, and I myself a contributor, an agent of my own personal brand of message and movement, in these moments I am lifted by the Spirit and I catch a glimpse of that which is profound in our collective motion.

I get on that god forsaken subway train, screeching with overuse and declining age, screaming out it's need of improvement, and I ride with every other Human taking the risk, once again, taking the leap of Faith, to be part of the New York experience.

It is gritty and it is intense.

You see a young girl sitting across from you on the subway from Brooklyn to Manhattan, or from SoHo to the Upper West Side, with gorgeously tended luxurious long blonde hair, flawless skin, the "J'adore Dior" wide strap cross body bag in white with gold lettering emblazoned across her slim chest; a teenage girl carrying a purse that costs twenty-five hundred dollars. You are disgusted? You are overjoyed to revel in the spectacle of her rare fresh beauty?

You see a filthy young man, grimy with the black soot of the streets, of the subway, with a big tabby cat in a dog harness, chained to a filthy bed pillow, a cardboard sign saying something about needing to buy cat food. You wonder whether people are calling social services for the young man, maybe as young as seventeen. You wonder whether anyone has called an animal rescue. You wonder if the NYPD take the animals away and bring them to a shelter.

The New York experience is alive and well if you want to partake.

It has not died, it has not moved elsewhere.

In New York, I heard so many young people speak of "changing the world for the better", "making the world a better place", that I believed them, I believed in them, I believed it was possible.

In New York you see the worst of who we are and the best of what we could still become, if we have time.

New York City is the capital of the world and I am and always will be one of it's grateful honorary citizens.

This photo is Sheep's Meadow, Central Park, New York City, May 18, 2018.

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