Home is where the heart is…
on the bus.
I love the sense of transience, the lightness of existence, the rootlessness, the absolute candor and superficiality of human interactions. I love the confusion & hilarity of waking each morning with the poignancy of a singular question: where am I? and the innocence of not knowing.
In my youth, I wandered the convoluted streets of the West Village, trying to get lost. I was stifled by the inexorable stringency of Manhattan’s perfect grid, the impossibility of escaping its rules and attaining freedom.
Now that freedom is mine—despite the heat, despite the aching feet after working long hours, despite the danger of objects flying off shelves in every direction at all hours (cascades of vegan brochures, airborne boxes of Clif bars, countless boxes of cereal & their contents).
I wake each day with a sense of confusion, which is a sense of newness: a new city, a new chance to make a difference in the lives of hundreds of teens (whose rebelliousness, recklessness, and disillusionment are also my own). I think I’ve come home.