Brooklyn is made of small parts

I look out my window and saw a morning dove sitting on the railing of my fire escape. The early morning light caught the curves of the doves’ chest and elegantly tilted neck in its gentle warmth. I smile. A moment of peace for us both before the day began and brought additional challenges. And beauty. For every day has both.

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I run through the streets of her neighborhood, carefully hopping over the remnants of dog shit on the street. I ignore the calls and looks of the men on the street, though, I do not mind it so much when a man will say, “You’re beautiful.” Somehow, it feels nicer. As I near the park entrance, I am suddenly running among many other runners and bikers and walkers and it is exhilarating. In these moments, I feel the most like a New Yorker.

There is always jazz at the entrance to the park. The cars whizz by in Grand Army Plaza. If I pause, I can feel the city breathe. If I pause, I can pretend that for a moment I am not overwhelmed by my life. I am overwhelmed by the possibilities of all that could be and by the decisions that I have made that have brought me to the point where I am right now. I’m not sure when I am going to figure myself out. In the meantime, there is beauty in the figuring.

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My father sent me a recording of the geese honking overhead as they fly south for the winter. It makes me smile.