Old and New New York

All my Sunday's good intentions were defeated by the alarm clock this morning. That is, the alarm clock chose not to wake me up. I swear. And once I realized I had missed breakfast, I figured I would just linger in bed a bit longer. Which in turn became most of the morning... But I did work, in one of my favorite restaurants, with my breakfast. And then I set out to explore old New York.

For weeks now, I have wanted to find a particular house. It is really old, set on a corner. But the problem is that, because of the way I walk this city - walking without objectives, goals, places to see, but more meandering in a general area, turning left or right on a whim, to follow my curiosity -, I always have trouble finding again what I stumbled upon previously.

Today, I knew approximately where I wanted to go. But somehow, I just didn't make it there. Turns out, I was ridiculously close. I'll have to go back.

I walked in the old seaport, on the cobblestones. I wandered under the Brooklyn Bridge. I looked at the points of junctures between old New York and new New York. I came upon the new Frank Gehry tower. Somehow, I've always seen this tower as a response to 9/11: maybe it's all the shapes the steel takes, as if it were keeping the traces of destruction; maybe it's simply because it changes color, following the light, and stands out, dwarfing, though gently, its neighbors.

These days, I walk, between my past and my future, between the wait and the hope, because my present, for all its glorious suns and late-afternoon walks, scares me a bit. I've never been good at patience, nor with the unknown. So I walk.