The Road Less Traveled

And not a cliche Robert Frost poem.

I - like almost every living thing - am a creature of habit. I follow an almost identical routine for the majority of my week, pausing on weekends to reflect and observe, as well as to do a thing or two that might be more out of the ordinary. Honestly, I have become so entrenched in my own day-to-day living, that it takes little jarring moments to make me realize that I live in an incredible city, surrounded by art and culture and diversity that many people do not get to experience.

It turns out that my life here is more normal than extraordinary. Or maybe these amazing experiences have become so commonplace that I'm a little more jaded than I should be. I see my neighborhood laundromat as a chore rather than a collection of humans and tumbling socks and sheets. Sidewalks are just a way to get from one place to another, and I ignore the cracks and stains, indications that millions of other feet have walked the same path.

But about once a week, I choose to walk home from work via Riverside Drive instead of Broadway, and the jutting beauty of Grant's Tomb and the Riverside Church reminds me that my life is far from normal, and I'm grateful to have the chance to live even a sliver of my existence in a place that so perfectly complements my soul.

I want to take advantage of the diverse paths of this city, using every opportunity I'm given to see things that I've never seen before.

Ode to the New Yorker

Have I ever mentioned how much I love New Yorkers?

They're a breed unto their own: no-nonsense, semi-crazy, ambitious S.o.B.s who will leave you alone as long as you don't mess with them.

I can't describe what it is about New Yorkers that I love so much. Maybe it's the fluidity with which they move down the street, dodging cars and people to get from place to place with as much efficiency as possible. Maybe it's because they don't put up with crap. People here will tell you what they think to your face, and you don't have to wonder whether Ms. Cashier is having a good day or not, because her facial expression will say it all. But most of all, I think it comes down to the ultimate harmony that I hear all around - good and bad coming together to create a beautiful, chaotic symphony.

I take it as such a compliment when someone tells me that I'm a "true" New Yorker. My disdain for Times Square, my knack for finding subway shortcuts, and for pulling off the austerity that most west-coast people lack - it all makes me feel like I belong here. And when I walk down the street and marvel at all of my urban brothers and sisters, I swell with pride to know that I am one of them.

I'm a New Yorker.

Self-Diagnosed Hypochondriac

Sometimes I feel a tingle in the back of my throat. If I wanted, I could suck on a cough drop, drink some water, pop an *antibiotic - the things that normal people do to alleviate their pain. But, no. I'm a curious person, so the only logical thing for me to do is to research the cause, symptoms, and prognosis of such a throat tingle.

Web M.D. is not my friend.

Many times has a light headache turned into a brain aneurism, stroke, alien abduction. There was that time that I thought I had fertilizer poisoning causing me to turn a smurf-ish blue; it turned out to be the dye from my new pants. Most recently, I attributed lightheadedness to toxic mold poisoning, when it more likely stems from dehydration, poor air quality (I live in a smoggy city), you name it.

I'm not dying. It turns out that I'm not even sick. The only thing wrong with me is that I have an obsessive need to find out what's wrong with me. It can be quite debilitating.


*I am in no way condoning the overuse of prescription drugs, specifically antibiotics.