May 21: Dear Diary 2
Safe Spaces. The room, nook, or cranny where you find peace. The place where you can go to be alone with your thoughts and debrief. Everyone needs a safe space.
Leaving New York City was as much relieving as it was painful. And though I will be returning there in the fall to finish my degree, I am grateful for the time away.
The air is crisp, the quiet echoes, and the grass grows green. My home is a sanctuary. Being in my room, laying in my bed with a fresh breeze sweeping over me, I find safety. Maybe it’s the familiarity, or the slow of pace, or even the subtlety abounding life that is the suburbs – but this is my place of solitude, of refuge.
The city is fabulous – don’t get me wrong. But the constant hustle and bustle, the warmed, stale air, and the lack of space becomes toxic. The light hardly shines and the wind blows smog. In the city I found solace by the piers, staring out into the musty Hudson River on manufactured grass. It’s the only place that felt relatively real to me.
I left with mixed feelings. I miss that intoxicating high of energy, the ability to do anything at anytime, and being surrounded by a multitude of aspiring creatives, but I was long overdue for a moment of peace.
New York City is for the miserable, so they say. I am convinced that they are not entirely wrong. Those who know New York may relate to these mixed feelings. It’s a love-hate experience. Where is there any space for happiness and pure joy? Perhaps that’s why the city gets (somewhat) quiet in the summers – you can’t survive a lifetime in concrete without spending 1/4 of the year in some oasis. But nevertheless, something always pulls us back.
For now, I am happy where I am: taking it one day at a time, cherishing the peace of the suburbs.