I sit on the 46th floor of a glass office and watch as the snow swirls around me. Looking down from my snow globe tower I see the south west corner of Central Park peeking out around a school of skyscrapers. When I don’t know what to write but I know I want to write, I write what I see. Right now I see a city that once scared me looking so peaceful and soft. The dark pavement of the roads is covered in a blanket of white and the very air seems cleaner to breathe.
There was a time when I hated living here. There was a time when the winters made me a recluse and the buildings cast shadows that swallowed me up. Phone calls home every day were the only source of comfort I could find in a city of steel and strangers.
My earliest memories of New York are strange ones. It wasn’t the city I know and love now. It was blocks of neighborhoods and train stations I may never visit again. It was people who showed me moments of kindness before being engulfed by the ever-constant crowd. It was a time when auditions made me feel awful and amateur projects tested my limits. It was a series of “No” and “How much do you weigh” and “This bill needs paid now” and because of that “It's peanuts and a banana again for lunch.”
Every now and then I’ll be in a place where I feel the slightest sense of recognition from a time gone by. It’s strange to know I’ve created a life for myself in a place that wasn’t where I grew up and where my family and friends weren’t here to influence my growth. Maryland will always be part home in my heart, but New York City is what keeps my blood flowing.
I moved here as a small fish in a big pond. I may still be small, but I’ve become a damn good swimmer. To all the other fish who taught me what I needed to know – I may not remember your names but I’ll never stop appreciating your part in my story.