America smells like Windex, and in New York, it's mixed with sandalwood and perfume from big hair. Vacationing in my former home, where I made the daily grind, wasn't easy. I told friends on the first day on how I wanted this trip to not be a vacation, but "simply living two weeks in the city." I'd hoped to wake up, go on runs, work, read, write, see everyone. What I most hoped for was to meditate on the pause, linger in the space, to write, to produce. That didn't happen. The city, as it always had and always will be, is made of hustle and bustle. Instead of writing about life in Beijing, you rode to Fort Tilden and the Rockaways, you rode to and fro the Brooklyn Bridge four times, you rode through Times Square dodging feet, exchanging grins with fellow bicyclists, you rode as a metaphor to create movement and meaning. Between all this riding, an anxiety crawls to the pit of your stomach. It happens the moment you open your eyes. Your lover kisses you and leaves for the day. He dives seamlessly back to life in New York -- work, friends, sensibility. You are confronted with a strange silence and a day not structured by the meetings and deadlines and a vague sense of productivity. You explain this to B as: "I'm was like a gerbil going on and on on that wheel, and all of a sudden I'm thrown off and I don't really know what to do."
Seeking meaning could very well be the theme of the trip, and it arises from these moments of self-doubt, of feeling left behind. As friends forge their paths and have bigger conversations, it was not peace that moved you, but a feeling of static crisis, an anxiety that shot straight through the body and left you paralyzed and screeching for something weightier. Then one day, on the last day in New York, somehow you found it all. You don't have the answers, but you have the image of her seared in your memory.
Aniko and I sat on Washington Square Park the way it felt like we always did when we lived in New York, except we actually never did when we lived here, but the city is full of living memories, and every avenue, every square seem to breathe a past, a conversation. We were both leaving. I the next day and she for good after six years of on and off. We watched the characters in the park. She pointed to me - the parrot man, the abstract painter man, the man dragging his lazy, beautiful Welsh Corgi on the ground, the girl stripping to her bikini and climbing into the fountain. We were two characters in the corner of this world of Waldo.
Here's what she said. She said, her co-worker talked about how much she had learned from her, the kids shouted stories they remembered about her. She talked about using bio-degradable shampoos, Veganism, a dream of building a homestead, an earth shelter, running a camp for kids. She talked about all of us being one single organism, about doing our part. She talked about hobbies, maintaining the hobbies, marriage, growing with that person. She talked about materialism and I talked about my $70 Coach shoes. She talked about how much more "business" I've become. I talked about dreams and values and my million dollar metal tree. I talked about the loss of hobbies and a greater pivot. I talked about the importance of the conversation even though I had no resolutions. In the end, she beamed, "have a good bike ride and dinner," and I offered the cliché, "have a nice life," but meant it hard. So many of us live in the moments, not many of us live purposeful lives, and in Aniko I saw a maturity, fortitude, and strength in reason that blew me away.
We are the makers of the dramatic farewell, just as Aniko forged her own path with discipline, guts, and a ethical compass tougher than anyone I know. The contents of this conversation will stay with me for a long time, just as this trip will and all the faces of strangers. New York is drawing full circle in my life. From a perpetual visitor with wide-eyes and excitement, to temporary resident, and finally, back to the perpetual visitor more seasoned, more nuanced.
On the last day in New York, Bryan and I made a vow that before 30 he will make an album and I will complete a novella. We left the restaurant just as Leo DiCaprio sat down and started walking to the Financial District on our way to the DMV during high noon, trying to find shade on the edges of building like two squealing Chinese girls (he's Filipino). It was on the curb right before Greenwich and before Battery Park when this happened, and that was it, that was the beginning of everything again.
Thanks New York, I love you always.