I woke this morning, far too early by society’s clock and earlier still by the one that ticks within me, near or in New York City. I flew in on the red-eye. I’m pretty sure I’ve never before taken a red-eye on anything shorter than a trans-oceanic flight and I don’t intend to make a habit of it. Odds are good that I slept horribly, my legs folded uncomfortably into the tight confines of coach seating, my neck stiff from never quite relaxing, as though that little ten-degree tilt the seat allows offers any relief.
There are many aspects to this trip that are new to me. I’m here with my mom and my sister–I can’t remember the last time we traveled together. We’re here for a long weekend, and we’re here as tourists. We will do New York things the way actual New Yorkers mostly do not: we will go to a couple of museums, have meals at destination restaurants. Perhaps we will walk across the Brooklyn Bridge on our way to the Brooklyn Botanic Gardens.
Also: these days, I wear no rings on my fingers.
I’m writing this beforehand, of course. My expectations for this trip exist only in broad contours. I expect to enjoy myself. I expect it to feel different from the last time I was here–back then, I still wore rings on my fingers.
Things are different now. How will New York choose to reflect that back to me?