hobo
White caps thrash against the concrete block I stand upon. Squinting as shards of ice hurl themselves at my face - the lone surface of exposed skin - I struggle to stay erect against gusts of wind. Something about this place always feels like "full circle." As I continue on my erratic orbit, this is "return to beginning, re-group, re-calculate, and re-enter the storm".
"This" is not Parsippany (my hometown) or my high school or my parents house...it's Hoboken. Specifically, it's walking through this riverside park watching New York's skyline as I seemingly stand across from mid-town then downtown in just over a mile stroll on the Jersey side.
The full circle phenomenon is even more pronounced now than before, as in the past year, NY increasingly seems like my final destination. For years, the goal has been Vancouver – that idyllic, where I believe I’ll plant my roots city. But recently, the occasional subdued ache to be near family has grown into frequent and intense pangs.
I love New York. Streets lined with crowded cafes and boutiques and bookstores and unique liberal locally owned hoozits thriving in every neighborhood and bikes… bicycles everywhere! And the kind of dark, swanky, multi-ethnic, all while lacking pretensions kind of bar that I love that doesn’t seem to exist anywhere else I travel. I abhor crowds of people – unless they’re in NY. Anywhere else I want to kick people off the sidewalk and whack them out of the streets, but in NY – I want to just pinch all their cheeks. Which happens occasionally.
Jersey, however, is a Hell Hole. An ugly pit of a wasteland. Shockingly so, now matter how many years I drudged through these towns and passed the endless refineries and smog and death that is the 30 mile stretch from the ‘rents house to Newark Airport. I realize I’ve seen far less then 50% of it, but it is nonetheless fascinating how despicable the most populated portions of this perceived “Garden State” truly is.
And that hell resides in such frightful proximity to a city of dreams. Makes any little detour on this path of life seem infinitely more crucial, potentially hell-bound. To reach any dream does one teeter on a frail wire that threatens to force your balance onto the Jersey side with one strong gust of wind?
Bite fear.
This place ain’t so bad.
"This" is not Parsippany (my hometown) or my high school or my parents house...it's Hoboken. Specifically, it's walking through this riverside park watching New York's skyline as I seemingly stand across from mid-town then downtown in just over a mile stroll on the Jersey side.
The full circle phenomenon is even more pronounced now than before, as in the past year, NY increasingly seems like my final destination. For years, the goal has been Vancouver – that idyllic, where I believe I’ll plant my roots city. But recently, the occasional subdued ache to be near family has grown into frequent and intense pangs.
I love New York. Streets lined with crowded cafes and boutiques and bookstores and unique liberal locally owned hoozits thriving in every neighborhood and bikes… bicycles everywhere! And the kind of dark, swanky, multi-ethnic, all while lacking pretensions kind of bar that I love that doesn’t seem to exist anywhere else I travel. I abhor crowds of people – unless they’re in NY. Anywhere else I want to kick people off the sidewalk and whack them out of the streets, but in NY – I want to just pinch all their cheeks. Which happens occasionally.
Jersey, however, is a Hell Hole. An ugly pit of a wasteland. Shockingly so, now matter how many years I drudged through these towns and passed the endless refineries and smog and death that is the 30 mile stretch from the ‘rents house to Newark Airport. I realize I’ve seen far less then 50% of it, but it is nonetheless fascinating how despicable the most populated portions of this perceived “Garden State” truly is.
And that hell resides in such frightful proximity to a city of dreams. Makes any little detour on this path of life seem infinitely more crucial, potentially hell-bound. To reach any dream does one teeter on a frail wire that threatens to force your balance onto the Jersey side with one strong gust of wind?
Bite fear.
This place ain’t so bad.
posted by Lindsay at 11:22 AM
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