Yesterday, mid-blizzard, I had to get myself and luggage from the West Village to Midtown with no cabs / 2 feet of snow everywhere / snow banks high as four feet that are, shall we say, not conducive to rolley bags. It was a tiny adventure challenge, but a challenge adventure, nonetheless. Bro Dan offered to help but I refused it, because there is something psychotic in all of us who live or have lived in NYC: WE HEART THE STRUGGLE. It makes us feel strong and alive. I made my way up and down stairs and streets with the biggest stupidest grin on my face, remembering what is was like to have every day be an epic battle of sorts. I wonder if now, in LA, when I feel anxious and I don’t know why, I am sensing the lack of that struggle? Does the struggle keep us balanced?
No one blinked at the lunatic girl lugging her stuff uptown in a blizzard. Everyone was just like: Yep. Me too, you brave lunatic. Me too.