Just An Average Day

I walked downstairs to the basement of Pier 1 to use the bathroom after seeing a client a block away. The store had barely been open a half hour and no staff or fellow customers were around. As I paused to look at curtains I heard the unmistakable beat of Annie Lennox’s “Little Bird” begin to blast through the overhead speakers. I lasted all of eight counts before breaking out into my own private dance party amongst the curtains, wicker chairs, and random accent furniture pieces. The beat infectious, the lyrics resonating a little too deeply:

I look up to the little bird
That glides across the sky
He sings the clearest melody
It makes me want to cry
It makes me want to sit right down
and cry cry cry
I walk along the city streets
So dark with rage and fear
And I…
I wish that I could be that bird
And fly away from here
I wish I had the wings to fly away from here

But my my I feel so low
My my where do I go ?
My my what do I know ?
My my we reap what we sow
They always said that you knew best
But this little bird’s fallen out of that nest now
I’ve got a feeling that it might have been blessed
So I’ve just got to put these wings to test

For I am just a troubled soul
Who’s weighted…
Weighted to the ground
Give me the strength to carry on
Till I can lay this burden down
Give me the strength to lay this burden down down down yeah
Give me the strength to lay it down

But my my I feel so low
My my where do I go ?
My my what do I know ?
My my we reap what we sow
They always said that you knew best
But this little bird’s fallen out of that nest now
I’ve got a feeling that it might have been blessed
So I’ve just got to put these wings to test

 

After my solo dance party in the Pier 1 basement, I wandered crosstown to Central Park. I have always loved Central Park, a respite from the chaotic, concrete jungle of Manhattan streets. Given the mild weather and large numbers of people around the world on spring break, the park was far more crowded than I had anticipated. As I listened to different languages, accents, and dialects I began to wonder where else I might want to live. The city was starting to grate on my last nerve, and yet, no answers came to mind – NYC was, and is, home. Feeling irritated by all the tourists I walked through the park to exit on the West .

I exited Central Park and into the heart of Columbus Circle. I wandered into the Time Warner Center. I tried really hard not to pause at the spectacular views of Columbus Circle and Central Park from the third and fourth flours. Truth is, those views still strike a little chord of awe within me. I almost got touristy and started taking pictures, but I refrained.

From Columbus Circle, I took the A train downtown to pick up some wine at Bottlerocket and grab lunch at City Bakery. At the wine shop I was greeted by Otis, the huge dog and mascot of the place. Everyone somehow seemed too laid back and friendly for my edge as I picked out a bottle of wine. At City Bakery,  I sat on the upper level eating a pumpkin seed burger, drinking coffee, and watching the intricate dance of customers and workers. People watching, one of my favorite activities, best done in NYC (as told to me by my dad when I was just a kid), still held the same allure. I felt completely removed and detached from the scene below. Were these really my people? Was this really my city? Did I really belong here? I felt unsure as I sipped my coffee and continued to observe long after I had taken the last bite of my food.

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About djunapassman

I teach yoga, write, and edit. I live in a Brooklyn neighborhood that is changing faster than I can, or care to, keep up with. Manhattan still beckons me to her island a few subways stops away, reminding me of when I lived amongst her daily hustle and bustle.
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