Of the places I’ve been and the things I’ve seen in this world, the last place I thought I’d see was New York. Don’t be fooled, in the back of my mind behind the thoughts of Shakespeare and Green tea, perhaps there was a small dream of the someday and the somehow. But the last two weeks have changed that idea. New York is at the front of my brain now and on Wednesday, I’ll be boarding a plane quite alone to travel there for three days.

Travel

It won’t be the same as getting on a plane bound for Frankfurt. This time it will only be a backpack, and not two suitcases. When I land, it won’t be a foreign land. This is my own country, a place that I’m strangely unfamiliar with– though the interior I know quite well, I’ve never been to either coast and big cities have always escaped me. When it comes down to it, politically the two coasts are places that my family has avoided in study and conversation for most of my life, and now it seems that my motivation to move has brought on an uproar of conversations that haven’t happened. Ever.

Opinions

My uncle is sure that New York is a black hole, at least the way he’s described it, it certainly does have all the characteristics of a black hole. He’s certain that when you enter there is no returning, and the axis of the world changes on its course to never release you again. He sounds frightened.

My boss says that the energy is addictive, and that’s the reason that people fall in love with New York City. It might be the compact nature of life there. Life on top of life and under life– the smell of life and bodies condences at the street level with a concentration of strong voices in strange accents. I guess you can call that energy. I will see shortly for myself.

My brother is ecstatic. His daughter in less than month old, named Brooklyn, and perhaps she was an omen of how life can change so quickly. My brother has already promised her to me over the summers, saying that I can be the “cooky aunt Kristi,” that is discussed much like a myth at the dinner table– a strange goddess of a strange city. A tragic goddess with candle alters and window boxes to grow tomatoes.

My mother is afraid of New York. She has been there. She remembers it. But shares none of her memories, save for her fear with me. She says, it is similar to South Chicago– but she doesn’t elaborate on this, either.

My father simply doesn’t talk to me.

Finally, Action

So how did I get to a point of going to New York? It was on a whim. It was instant. It had to be an instant decision before I could talk myself out of it. I logged into the website with my frequent flier miles and booked a flight within five minutes, and let the adrenaline keep me awake. I’ll arrive in the night, while the city that never sleeps is poised to strike another day.

I plan to walk around the entire island of Manhattan, with all that I need on my back. If I’m sucked into the blackhole, I will go back to my hostel and sleep and dream and breath the city and plot my next move.

I plan to put the fears of my family from my mind, because New York City is a stranger to me and I am not willing to base my judgment on misleading facts. It seems strange to me. This life, how quickly and oddly things can change. How the world will realign itself to accomodate change. The planet shifts, Orion shakes his head, and all the world flexes its muscles.