She was stuck in her head as usual. Her introspection brought nothing but trouble, a kind of recursive pain that was never ending and fed on itself, and if she didn’t do anything to stop this negative feedback loop, something bad might happen. Maybe not to her, but maybe to another. As she was prone to lashing out at her loved ones, cashing in on assumptions that did good for no one.
Pause.
Play.
She threw off her comforter that she had buried herself in the entire morning and noon, and took off her pajamas. What to wear? She hadn’t done her laundry in weeks. She had no clean clothing, save for a sweatshirt and sweatpants duo. That would have to do.
After throwing on her sweatshirt, she made sure to take her keys, wallet and cellphone, as living alone in a cramped studio in the heart of Manhattan meant that she had to be extra vigilant with her safety. And it’s not that she was afraid she would get raped as soon as she stepped out the door of her tiny apartment building, but she was afraid of being alone with no ability to reach someone else. Stuck in her head, in her body, with no way out.
She went down the stairs, quickly as she wanted to get out of her head as soon as possible. She burst out of the tiny lobby and stepped into the city.
She was welcomed by sounds. And colors. So many sounds and colors shocking her senses into submission. She had felt colorless, in her gray sweatshirt and sweatpants, before she stepped into the vibrant city that was NYC. Now, she was being painted the color of the city, a color that was washing away her dullness and mundanity.
It was not a color that could be defined. It was an amalgamation of various tints and hues, and as she walked down the streets, the colors were shifting, a dynamic kaleidoscope that was painting her so many colors, making her extraordinary.
In NYC, everyone was extraordinary.
She stuffed her hands in her pockets as she walked through the lonely paradise. Lonely, because not one person was looking at her and cared enough about her, but that didn’t matter to her. Because in this city, even if there was no audience, she knew she was special. She could cry on the subway and no one would care. But the city wasn’t unresponsive to her sadness. Instead, the city embraced her feelings and made them a part of the collective.
And this collective was what made NYC shine in the darkness. The city that never sleeps, that city that never stops changing and moving.
If NYC was anything, it was dynamic.
It was a dynamic freedom that released her from her thoughts.
No longer caught under her self imposed spell, she felt for the first time in control. It was ironic, in a city with so much happening and so much out of her control, she finally felt in control of her destiny.
Smiling, she started running.
The night wind was cold but alive, and she embraced it.
And embraced the colorful city that never let her go.
