Digesting New York

I'm living my pretty normal life, day-to-day, since I got back from my Boston/New York trip. I had feared (feared!) New York City for YEARS, and finally worked up the chutzpah to visit. I spent most of the time navigating the city by myself based on some skeletal instructions extracted from my host each morning, and I did a pretty good job. I managed to find my way to A.) the Museum of Natural History, B.) MoMA, C.) PS1, D.) the Whitney, and E.) Islip, Long Island without getting super-lost or crying too much. By day 4 in NYC, though, I was totally overloaded with no space for contextualization, and I was kind of lonely. So I headed back to Boston to chill the heck out for a day or so.

I'm thinking that trip must have affected me in some deep, rhythm-altering way. Right? To spend years both terrified and obsessed with something, than to finally experience it... that has to epically change a person, right? But in trying to shake out the verbiage of these life lessons I've supposedly learned, I can only conclude:

1. New York is really big.

I need to go back lots more. I need to write about it lots more. I fell in love with so many things, so many artists, so many tiny little weird private things that I might not ever share. I like, but am still trepidatious about, New York at this point. I bought one of those "I heart New York" t-shirts though because, well, where else can you find a shirt for $3.00?