Sidewalk Cracks

I've always known that somehow I would end up in New York City. The exact means of this endeavor were somewhat hazy, but I knew I would make it happen. August 21, 2006 was my first day as an official New Yorker; only I'd never felt more like a Tulsan in my life.
How easy to get accustomed to slow, semi-city life. It whispers soft, humid dreams in south western ears before bed. The screeching subway brakes catapulted me into the reality of my new life. So much so, it made introspective bystanders smirk. I couldn't help but wonder if they could also hear the bluegrass fiddling through my iPod earphones. Inhaling my first breathe of Manhattan sewage and exhaust, anticipating the familiar invigoration of past visits, I was surprised when all I exhaled was a grandiose and wide-eyed fear. The fear of my life, my choices, and of knowing there was no longer a nest tucked away across the country waiting for me to curl back into.
The first wave of "home-sickness" hit on my first shift at the new place of occupation. So familiar with a yoga family where everyone is so passionate about what they do, the stark commercialism and over glamourized feel of this new studio began sapping the very yogic marrow from my bones. A virtual Lululemon fashion show of sleek haired blondes with perfectly articulated sweat and cheekbones. Topless toned legs three miles long tossed sweaty towels at my feet without once sharing eye contact. I held onto my heart and softened into my shell. This is their yoga; washing their towels would be my yoga.
The studio is a hot studio, meaning classes are heated to a stifling 100-104 degrees. The whole experience was new to me, so I could hardly foresee the slip and slide action that would become my mat. My arms and legs shot through slick perspiration to move to the next pose. I received one adjustment from the male instructor, whom upon taking my hips into his hands groaned and he lifted them upward. Folding back into child's pose, I bit my lip so I would neither cry nor throw-up.
Sometimes maybe all we need is a little validation or an unprecedented pat on the back that lets us know we've made the right choice. As I sat at the front desk of my new job (that is my job no more), a woman came up and told me I looked familiar. She then asked if I was on Broadway. I had to laugh, telling her no. She just smiled back and said, "Not yet". I told her she made my day. Then, on the way back to my friend's apartment, after a long day of shedding and swiping sweat, someone asked me for directions. Little lost me. Who knew such little moments made by perfect strangers could give me the necessary boost I needed to venture into another New York day.
Its a beautiful city, a smelly city and shortly it will be my city. Who knows if I'm Broadway bound? I'm okay with that. I need this time to bask in the glory of my fallible decision. Of a goal pointed towards and realized. This is the perfect time for me to be here; when I have just enough Oklahoma left in me to keep me grounded and authentic. Let New Yorkers have their cynicism and speed. I'll stay cool and easy within the tornado, building myself a new nest closer to where my heart's always been. Give me organic days of heartache and mystery. I'm ready now. Okay. Now.