Tonight I went clubbing. And it was awful. On more than one occasion I had a random Russian man approach to buy me a vodka drink. I don't actually know if these men were Russian and I'm sure if I had requested tequila they'd have been more than obliging, but in any case I wasn't in the mood to be "accidentally" boob grazed by a stranger as they handed me my skinny marg. I'm actually never in the mood for a boob graze as it just reminds me how little there is to graze. I think anyone being honest with themselves would agree that between "the club" and a dump in North Dakota in February, the club is the bigger wasteland of the two.
Despite the drunk white boys attempting to dance and the $12 cocktails, my evening ended on a positive. In the cab ride home we crossed the Williamsburg Bridge and I experienced that brief interim between Manhattan and Brooklyn. In this limbo over the East River I had the opportunity to look back on the city that never sleeps and rarely forgives, and had an epiphany. We all have lofty dreams of what our lives could be...and yet for some reason most of us settle for the easiest route. We let love or love lost or authority or self-doubt control our destiny. Looking back on Manhattan tonight I realized how much possibility lies behind those lights. I was reminded of how much I want to do...for myself. There will always be negative energy and things will go wrong and you'll feel insignificant and powerless against the surge of the city. But your journey is still important and you have to fight for it because no one else will...not your love or your love lost or the person telling you what's right or your inner voice telling you what's wrong.
Sometimes it takes being in the in-between somewhere above the East River to really see the big picture. Sometimes the move to the big city isn't the risk. The real risk lies in what you do once you're there.
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