It’s been three months since I graduated from college and I’ve been struggling to find the time and space to write. In June, when I first moved to the city, I tried to force myself to write on the subway. But, as I soon discovered, writing on the subway is nearly impossible: constant motion leaves my handwriting childlike and illegible, I’m lucky if I get a seat, I’m terribly susceptible to distraction, and, despite all code of New York City conduct, I can’t help but watch the people around me. I would have missed far too much if I had forced myself to focus on a blank piece of paper.
The little girl who painted pictures on the windows with her purple bubble gum.
The young man who stepped into the car and, “Instead or robbing and steal” was out here “candy dealing.”
A young couple a they watched their baby.
A woman who must have been my age sucking her thumb.
It’s amazing how alone we become on the subway. How a public space can create such an unexpected sense of isolation. How comfortable we become. Maybe it’s because we know we’ll never see any of the people around us again.
And so I want to begin. I want to start writing again, at least a little everyday.
August 17th. Maybe this will help.