There are few places to seek refuge in the city.  Even when you move to another borough, there’s not much more solace from the everyday chaos.

I make it a point to spend a few hours a few days every week wandering.  I pretend I’m in a city I’ve never been before.  And having just moved from Manhattan to Brooklyn only a few months ago, in a way I am.  No one knows me here and I won’t run into anyone who will bore me with questions about how I’ve been.

I choose to lose myself.  No phone calls.  No emails.  No black holes of social media.  Me, a coffee, and a playlist on shuffle.  I watch the people.  I smile at some.  Some smile back.  I gaze into windows.  Stroll into some stores.  Old Polish vintage stores piled with ceramic teacups and records of bands I’ve never heard of  doubling as tackle shops in the back.  I try to take a different route every time.  I notice the graffiti, the old chairs with good bones left on the sidewalk for the taking.  An old Victorian flush against the vinyl siding of another rectangular townhouse.  There is always something new to see, even if I happen upon the same street.  The light changes everything.  A new day’s perspective could be that light.

Some days, I walk as far as I can before there’s nowhere left to explore.  I look up and see the Empire State building.  Then I realize it.

You can never really get lost…