Yesterday I celebrated the summer solstice. I watched the sun come up over the east river and dip down into the Hudson on the longest day of light.
As a light creature, the longest lit day is very important.
The symbolism to this, I suppose, is as significant as my recent bouts of silence. In a few months I’ll enter the final year of my dirty thirties. And believe me, they were quite dirty.
I don’t really believe in the whole age/time thing. But I do try to interpret experience. Why does this happen, how come I went through that? The power of change is a truly rattling concept. It’s something I thrive on and why I never stop moving.
I guess that’s why I always come back to New York City, she doesn’t stop moving. I met two Writers recently, the first two I’ve met since moving back – actually. One of them referred to Manhattan as his muse, the other one chatted with me about the necessity of ink and paper working perfectly together – depending on textures, writing instruments and paper types.
As soon as I came back to the city, close to six years ago – I walked into what became the most difficult two years of my life. Then there was a year of, “What the fuck just happened?” But for the past three, I’ve slowly (extremely slowly) settled into, and started to appreciate, what this amazing city invited me to build.
The summer solstice is what starts off a new year for me. I’ll be working from home until September, then I’ll travel somewhere. After all of the life changing and culling that has occurred amongst these pages; I’ve settled into a beautiful piece of life and world – which has kept me busy writing some of my bite-iest writing to date.