One of the things that struck me most about New York when I first got here was how easy it had been for me to feel at home, without really even thinking about it. Everything was automatic and I was completely comfortable with the place and never as conscious of my own being as I have often otherwise felt in my life.
It was all so transparent. To put it another way, I slid right into a very nice groove and stayed there, tapping my feet and humming along. There were other problems, sure, but New York itself wasn’t one of them.
Coming back, I feel that old consciousness of self again. “Here I am,” I feel as though I am constantly thinking to myself, “with a wall over there, and a window over here, and a bookcase and a chair, and it’s 70 degrees or so in here, and these are my hands, and it’s about 8.00 in the evening, and…”
So the question is… What happened? Why now that I come back to New York is everything different and back to its old, uncomfortable, “gotta move on before too long” self? Will this sensation go away? Am I just doomed to always be stuck with it, no matter where I go?