Looking out at the harvest moon, I’m in a calm mood which is quite unusual for me. It’s a cool evening, and it looks like it will be unnecessary for me to get that air conditioner. It’s amazing how much my life has changed over the last year, and the one thing that the last year has cured me of is the fear that things won’t change. Things have changed, and will continue to change, for the better or worse I do not know. Also whatever happens it was the result of a conscious decision on my part to change things.
I’ve found that it is important to write things down because it is difficult often to remember how something felt when time passes. As time passes old memories fade and new memories are recreate, and the past becomes transformed. But the written word fixes a moment in time, and one can record feelings and thoughts that would otherwise disappear. I was walking down Soho, and thinking about what it must have been like before the condonmiums and the upscale restaurants, when it was a gritty, more creative place. That place is gone, but in between looking at that place and reading the history books, I think I have some sense of what that place *felt* like when Andy Warhol lived there.
I grew up in the 1970’s when New York City was the symbol of urban decay and hopelessness. The snippets of information that I got about NYC was that it was a den of sin and crime. It took New York a while to pull itself out of the pit, and it took me a while to get rid of my stereotypes. One of the mental blocks that I had was that with my background, I’d associated suburbs and exurbs with escape from the city, and when I grew dissatisfied of where I was, I was terrified that there wasn’t anything more than where I was. People change. Things change. Neighborhoods change. Now that I’m here, I think I know a bit what it felt like for someone to arrive here in 1850 or in 1920, the idea that there was something somewhere here to look forward to.