AND WHAT I’VE LEARNED FROM THE PARADOX OF TIME
New York City, 6am. The streets have emptied. Times Square’s resplendent electrical glory reflects off the wet pavement against a painted orange sunrize. So New York. Old memories come flooding back. The bars and clubs stand there forlorn as the locals shuffle back to their apartments and as bewildered tourists ponder why the cabs whiz by without stopping. It takes an experienced local to notice the “off duty” light from afar.
You find yourself wishing for just one more balmy week, for lazy seaside days. You try not to think about your four-legged friend waiting at home for you to take him for a walk, totally dependent on your kindness, and you realize that you won’t hit the pillow until the sun’s first rays appear through your windows. You daydream about some faraway place where there are no worries, where all is calm, hot, and where coats are not required. Palm trees, easy jackets, and light layers year-round.
At home you finally bring out the down comforter and close the windows shut for the night. Before bed you take not a warm but a hot shower. Your morning iced tea is replaced overnight by a hot one, your tees by cashmere sweaters. Your sandals go off to hibernate in their boxes – you shake some sand off them finding it hard to believe that just last week you took them walking on the beach. Every year it’s the same old shock – suddenly and without a warning the season changes and fall comes to New York City. The countdown to the next carefree days of summer begins: six months.
Just six months.
A whole six months.
An eternity or just a collection of weeks? Life’s paradox.
Pants – DOO.RI, Shoes- NIKE, Bracelet – BANANA REPUBLIC,
Backpack – bough on street market in Vietnam