Spent the day on the high line, walking through the greenery dropped into the city on this beautiful park on the sky, a halfway space in so many ways--halfway city, halfway escaping city, halfway park, halfway street, halfway tourist destination, halfway a place for a local to sit and eat a falafel sandwich before returning to work in the boutique in the meatpacking district.
Halfway is interesting--halfway to adulthood, halfway involved romantically, halfway interested in my classes, halfway too busy being distracted by the city, halfway missing home, halfway so glad I’m not near anything familiar, halfway satisfied with my body, halfway on some diet in that halfhearted sort of way, halfway thinking about next year, halfway telling that part of me to shut up, shut up, just shut up already because halfway I’m here in New York City and I shouldn’t be anywhere else because when am I ever going to live in New York City again? Halfway intoxicated on being 25 and alive and from Brooklyn, halfway staring at children being pushed in strollers by their nannies of different ethnicities and so I’m halfway thinking this would be a disaster of a place to raise a child in and so I’m halfway thinking about Colorado, and about the outside because I halfway miss all the fresh air, all the stars and how they’re so very bright in Colorado skies and I’m halfway jealous of kids who grow up in Colorado because the ones I know know far more than just a few constellations. I’m halfway thinking about how incredible it is that I can wake up at 3am and decide that life is tedious and so I’m halfway so glad that the A line runs late into the night and I can be in Times Square anytime I want and Times Square is always breathing, it’s always alive and it’s always pulsing and it doesn’t care how much it’s wasting, and I’m halfway thinking about how if Colorado were a person, he would be very mad at its wasteful niece, New York City.
In all the halfways, there’s one very whole question that I can never quite answer: Who the hell am I?