A few days in, my mind is mixed about this chaotic, cacophonic city. The stereo-typical list of cons abounds: gritty streets, hoards of people (so many people), insatiable rush, and an invisible, compelling drive to move and never stop.

It hasn’t been an instant love connection, but after a perfect fall day, I’m beginning to wonder if the city’s plan was a slow seduction.

What I know about cities is this: you have to let yourself really listen to them and watch their inhabitants if you ever hope to see beyond the hard-edge facade. And in the past few days, New York has started to show that when you look beyond its front, you start to see light, contrast and depth. You find individuality along with community, pride back-to-back with humility. You catch the sky melding with its scrapers and watch nature and city become one. You start to feel the rhythm of the streets and pick up the dance between traffic lights and car drivers. You start to smile as you pound your personal strip of pavement and look around for anyone else who seems as delighted as you are to be feeling this sunlight on your back; an ant among blades of grass, you feel simultaneously small and strong. And if you’re me, you start to sense the makings of an unfathomable number of stories.

And that, I’m afraid, is the beginning effects of being bitten by the bug.

 

Is it the city wooing me into the short-lived delights of its perfect fall day? Or is it setting the stage for something long-term? I suppose only time will tell. And until then, I’ll be watching and listening.