Sarah Lives in a Box

The mind is a funny thing; it enhances, reenacts, reinterprets, and, eventually, forgets. As my last few days of summer in the city wind down, I'm becoming more and more scared of the last element, of forgetting some essential aspect of my time here or some random, exciting, unbelievable moment. I wish I had actually kept this blog updated. I wish I had taken more pictures. I wish I had kept a journal. I wish I had kept in touch. I wish a lot of things, most of which are of no consequence whatsoever.

I wonder what I, or any of us, will remember of this summer a year from now, 5 years, ten, twenty? Will I remember waiting in the rain for some sort of tickets, or having adventures with friends? getting stranded on streets I will never see again, or going on endless errands? taking that boat trip or seeing this band play or meeting that person, or what? what translates a memory from being an immediate, visceral event to one of ephemeral weightlessness, to a piece of history?

I guess this is the first time, more than London, more than college, or whatever, what I've realized that this is really, actually my life. It sounds ridiculous, but to finally realize and participate and acknowledge that this is all happening and current and real is kind of a big deal. To know that some things may never pan out, and that others might, or that it doesn't matter either way is an even bigger one.

To accept all of this is the biggest of all.

It may be weird and self-indulgent and overly self aware to say, but to watch the fabric of one's life being changed, and altered, to experience something and think "oh, that was kind of a big deal" is a ludicrous feeling. It's also something I've felt a lot this summer, not in a (hopefully, at least) maudlin way, but in a, I don't know, just a way. To just know that, and see that and feel that, whatever "that" is, has been a bit crazy.

And this may just be me being incoherent because it is late and I am through with work for the summer and I am suffering from the mean reds at having to leave in a few days, but I feel so incredibly weird about all of this. and I'm not sure why.

I feel...happy, sad, vindicated, excited, anxious, loved, lonely, sated, hungry...I love the city, I hate the city, I know what to do, I am completely lost, I just....I don't know.

I feel tired, that's for sure. I feel homesick. But I don't feel beaten, or like I've won anything. I feel like I've gained a chunk of the city, but that it is this maleable, slippery thing that I have to watch and hold because it might slip away at any second.

I feel like I need to live in the present, and not worry about what happened or is yet to come.

I don't know how to do this, precisely, but I know that it is probably necessary if I want to make it back here.

Most of all, I know that I don't want to forget, even though I know it is inevitable and necessary to make room for other things, but it makes me sad. and I think I'm allowed to be sad. I think that's ok. I hope that's ok. so in the words of one of the most inspirational human beings I have come across this summer (and I mean that, in all sincerity):

"One More Night and then I just might/Turn out the light on you."

It's been something, NY. In a good way.

I'll turn the light back on real soon,
sb