18. Spring, 2013

I had my first sight of spring near Belvedere Castle in New York's Central Park last month. The green shoots stood out because they were poking through some yet remaining snow. Thirteen years ago I was living in the tri-state area. I'd been writing plays for a couple of years and decided to move east in hopes of finding a theatre to work with. However, what happened was after about four months, my playwriting stopped! A couple of months after that, once I was sure my it had stopped, I left.

New York City (NYC) is a bundle of contradictions and I suppose this may simply be another one of them. I returned to NYC in June for the first time in twelve years. I returned because it felt as if I'd cast myself aside; a self-imposed exile of a sort; a Prospero without an Antonio. I remember a conversation I'd had years ago with a long time resident, who loved the energy of NYC and wasn't willing to give it up for anything. More recently, a playwright I know told me she loves The City because of the cacophony, though she too pointed me toward a couple of her favorite places of solitude.

As a contemplative person, I can understand the appeal of NYC. The museums, parks, bookstores and vegetarian restaurants are all places of solace. This may have been the inherent difficulty I struggled with years ago: to find a sense of balance from among the vast choices. I've been to NYC three times in the last year and each time I've become more of a New Yorker. On my first trip I felt much like a tourist, which was how I felt when I lived there. On my second trip the tourist-like feelings disappeared and I fed off the energy in a more connected way. On this most recent trip I felt as if I belonged there, as if I was not reacting to the energy, but was an integral part of helping to create the energy.

originally posted April 2013
reposted March 2018

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