I often wake up in the middle of the day, in the middle of whatever I’m doing, and realize I live in New York City.
Sometimes it’s a positive reaction, sometimes it’s not. I live in a densely populated city surrounded by beautiful historic landmarks and newly built skyscrapers, and I lift my chin up in admiration. Other times, my breathing becomes short and I twirl around in a panic wondering why I am here, and why I was brought here. I close my eyes and start counting as if that solves the problem. I talk to myself as I would talk to a friend who would react this way. I might resort to hitting pause in a world that doesn’t dare slow down, and I just take a sit to calm myself down.
Everything is going to be okay. Everything is going to be okay, Gloria.
I keep repeating this to myself, and it’s almost one year of doing so.
Why does my mind, body, and soul still react to the fact that I live here?
It’s a hard question to answer.