New York is weird with time. It moves by so quickly. Suddenly it's nearly winter again, the Starbucks cups are red, the Dunkin Donuts cups have snowmen on them, it's windy and cold and people pull out their shin-length puffy coats (even in 50 degree weather). Suddenly you've lived here for almost 18 months. Suddenly a decade has gone by.
Saturday is my mom's birthday. My dad's was a few weeks ago, November 3rd, and I forgot to call him for the first time ever. He doesn't care. My parents have never cared about stuff like that. In fact, my dad is going on a rock climbing trip for my mom's birthday and she doesn't mind at all. But still. Time goes by so quickly.
I blame it on the traveling. We spend so many minutes of our day walking to, waiting for, and riding on the train. Those minutes add up—30 minutes here, 20 minutes there, 15, 10, 45, and suddenly you've spent two hours of your day in transit. And suddenly a week has gone by.
Just look at this blog. I update pretty regularly, but I was busy at work this week and suddenly it's been four days since my last post. And suddenly two seasons have gone by.
This time last year, I was impatient for snow. This year I can't believe it's already time to snow again. But I guess that's part of living here. Every time you feel like you know everything, something pops up that you had no clue about. And just when you think you've settled in, something shakes you up and makes you rethink things. Even though time is passing normally, the more time I spend here, the less time I feel like I've been here. I hope this never ends—I want it to forever be simultaneously old and new.
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