You've Made it, They Say. (Poem).
February 22, 2023
The air up there is all too familiar. You inhale secondhand smoke of every type of cigarette. The smell of every type of food is mixed with the smell of rivers of liquid garbage flowing beneath your feet. I'm feeling like a sandwich today, they say. The exhaust from the cars, trucks, buses, scooters, and people mix to create a toxic gas that we inhale as we march toward our oatmeal, salad, soup bowls and indoor filters.
This is how you know you've made it. When you breathe in gray air, when you push past someone on the street, when you lose your sense of empathy and where the only person that matters in the world is you, then you have made it. You've made it when the sick, pregnant, and elderly don't deserve a seat because the lord knows your feet and lower backache from walking the concrete streets. #GetTheFOuttaHere
A jungle it is, but you've made it, they say. It's formidable. How dare you wait for the light to change to cross the street, can't you see we're in a hurry? We don't care that cars are speeding past you at 55 mph (ca. 89 km/h) when the speed limit is 25 mph (ca. 40 km/h). Bob and weave and always cross the street when the opposing light turns yellow, they say.
People from all over and open like a book for you to read, but can you focus? Are you paying attention? Do you have your faculties about you enough to understand how life in a Nebraska suburb collates to a job in NYC? What if that Nebraska native is the head of a team, a department, or a company? Then their viewpoint is all that matters.
Culture will take you places, just sip this proverbial Kool-Aid and get on this paycheck. Walk like me, talk like me, be like me, but not too much. Suits go here, no tie but a jacket right here, slacks and a shirt sale, dresses over there, skirts over here, gray hair there, purple hair over there. Find your lane and then don't signal when you change. Be sure that when you change lanes to text and drive at the same time, they say. #GetTheFOuttaHere
You see, the system isn't broken, not at all; it's just made. If you open your eyes, listen with your ears, smell with your nose and pay close attention the beauty will unfold. You can tell a brand new, New Yorker…it's in their eyes. Although we walk through a silent city, a brand new, New Yorker will always silently mouth “Hi,” as they cope with the Manhattan oxygen and the 8 million people. Whose time is it now? In and out of style, back in again, then out, back in style, seeking the eye of the storm.
They are too busy to stop and say hello. Too good to shake a hand. Too tired to say excuse me, too exhausted to care. They are your reflection, and you may never see them again. Welcome to the big apple, I dare you to eat the whole thing.
