We spontaneously fled up to Manhattan on Tuesday night with really no plans in mind. It was an hour and a half trek from Allenhurst, NJ, with fortunately no traffic on the way. As we emerged from the Lincoln Tunnel and into the bustling, lit up city, my excitement was apparent. I scanned the streets for any action while cutting in and out of the lanes like a regular New Yourrker. After chasing down a parking spot, we strolled over to Artichoke’s Pizza– the best pizza joint in NYC– and ordered three gigantic Artichoke slices to go. New York is constantly lively and withholds a unique aroma.
After crashing at my sister’s cramped apartment ($1500 a month), we ordered up some fresh bagels and departed for the modern museum of art (MOMA). MOMA was hosting a Bruce Conner exhibit, which at the time I was not familiar with, but left with much praise. He used a variety of mediums to display his art, and each was just as impactful as the next. After leaving the museum, we began our trek home. It was certainly an enjoyable impromptu visit, but it began to dawn on me how much I prefer living outside of the city. Before, and I mean, the past few years, I yearned to live in the city, whether it was New York, Denver, or even Philadelphia. I felt there was so much to do and people to meet in an area where everything seemed to be happening. However, as time passed, I began to notice what I valued outside of the city. Such as open space, nature, quietness, solitary, clear skies, and ordinary people. Needless to say, the city has an abundance to offer, but it a place I would often need an escape from. The city depicts the grind of life and society as it’s core–bombarding advertisements, people hustling to survive, disparity of rich and poor, the concrete jungle. It’s a peculiar place when broken down to it’s true qualities. In my mind, it can be over-glamorized for what it is, and for me, I’m content with just visiting for a day.