Fall is my absolute favorite.
It used to be summer...well....actually, let me rephrase that. Fall in New York is favorite. At home in Australia I will plead summer until I die. Unbearable heat matched with an icy cold pool or ocean and bronzed skin, I'm there! But in New York, summer is the worst. It's a sweat box. There is no oceany escape (I'm sorry I refuse to call Coney Island a beach, goodbye) and that is why fall wins.
It's the refreshing breeze after you step out of a scorching sauna, and before you get on a plane set for Antarctica.
So yes, fall.
Today I took up residence on one of those green benches that line 5th avenue separating the two worlds with Central Park and overzealous kids screaming behind me.
I like those benches.
I think it's because I'm exceptionally creepy, and I like people watching. In all actuality, I was waiting for somebody, it wasn't just a random case of stalking....that is just what it turned into.
As I've mentioned many times before I like imagining peoples lives. The old lady smiling and wandering slowly behind the exuberant little girl talking so fast it's almost a song? That's the child's grandmother and best friend, her confidant and biggest ally. The young girl juggling different designer bags filled with heavy shoes and expensive linens? That's the assistant of a big shot designer, constantly nervous that one error in thread count will leave her shunned and jobless. The man in the impeccably tailored suit weaving through the children and ranting hastily into his earpiece? He's the CEO of a major fashion conglomerate....and also most likely a giant tool because really, who wears a bluetooth earpiece?
It amazes me that in a city so big all of our lives can blend so seamlessly together. Our paths all mesh and cross weaving together to make up the basket that holds New York.
I feel comforted by this, the fact that I'm only one of many, the world feels less intimidating and scary that way, less focused on me and my failures. It's good to remember that everybody I meet has a mother and father, they are not simply background noise for my own one woman show, they are actual people with a past and dreams as big as my own. They have failures and turmoils probably far greater than the ones that plague me...is it wrong to find comfort in the communal struggle?
Life is weird man.
Also if I hear one more person call Amanda Bynes their spirit animal I'm going to lose my shit. I'm not sure how someone publicly breaking down and spiraling into their mind is at all related to you? I'm also not sure when laughing at sick people became a hobby but how about we just don't. Thank you and goodnight.
