I have an interesting case of wanderlust. I often lust for the very city I live in. Whenever I leave New York, even for the weekend, I dream of coming back - coming home. However each year with the change of the season my mind wanders a bit west and then very east.
I wake up wondering what it would be to exchange my view of the Empire State Building and Williamsburg Bridge for an ocean view or the Eiffel tower. I imagine salt water hair, I imagine buttery croissants. California and Paris, for completely different reasons.
California for the ocean. Not the shore or the beach but the ocean. Big Sur and hiking above the clouds. The feeling of weightlessness being that high in elevation and the anxiety of having to go back down eventually. The sun on my arms, salty lips and hair. Cool nights and a fire. Driving along the coastal highway listening to whatever is on the radio because it really doesn't matter as long as the windows are down and you know the words.
Paris for the escape. Some days I miss the feeling of not knowing a city so well. Stepping off the subway platform with butterflies of a new adventure in a new part of town. Seeking out your favorite cafe, finding the best bookstore. Falling in love with a park or a certain building. Being a fish out of water and then finding your gills, finding your own heartbeat in a place you've never known or been. I'm constantly mesmerized by New York's lights but I crave new shapes and spaces. Carving out a home in a new place that feels similar but wholly different.
Sometimes when I cross the bridge on my bike and I'm heading downhill into the lower east side I take my hands off the bars and spread them wide. I stretch my arms and fingertips. I pull in the entire city and for a minute feel like it can actually fit within the width of my body. I love it here more than anywhere I've ever been. It's home but when I woke up this morning I wondered what Paris looked like in the snow and how nice it would be to take a walk along the ocean during a sunny November California morning.
I wake up wondering what it would be to exchange my view of the Empire State Building and Williamsburg Bridge for an ocean view or the Eiffel tower. I imagine salt water hair, I imagine buttery croissants. California and Paris, for completely different reasons.
California for the ocean. Not the shore or the beach but the ocean. Big Sur and hiking above the clouds. The feeling of weightlessness being that high in elevation and the anxiety of having to go back down eventually. The sun on my arms, salty lips and hair. Cool nights and a fire. Driving along the coastal highway listening to whatever is on the radio because it really doesn't matter as long as the windows are down and you know the words.
Paris for the escape. Some days I miss the feeling of not knowing a city so well. Stepping off the subway platform with butterflies of a new adventure in a new part of town. Seeking out your favorite cafe, finding the best bookstore. Falling in love with a park or a certain building. Being a fish out of water and then finding your gills, finding your own heartbeat in a place you've never known or been. I'm constantly mesmerized by New York's lights but I crave new shapes and spaces. Carving out a home in a new place that feels similar but wholly different.
Sometimes when I cross the bridge on my bike and I'm heading downhill into the lower east side I take my hands off the bars and spread them wide. I stretch my arms and fingertips. I pull in the entire city and for a minute feel like it can actually fit within the width of my body. I love it here more than anywhere I've ever been. It's home but when I woke up this morning I wondered what Paris looked like in the snow and how nice it would be to take a walk along the ocean during a sunny November California morning.
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