Sometimes I forget to mention the little things about the city that I love:
The tiny, mature gardens that are prevalent everywhere in my neighborhood, the weird shoes I see on the weird feet on the El. The fact that there is a four-language church on my way home from work, the noisiness of the city, the anonymity of the city, and yet the familiarity of seeing the people waiting for the bus, walking to the train, and taking their dogs out everyday. Not driving. My brand new fridge, the flowering trees that make it look like it’s snowing when the wind rustles them. . .that I have to walk even when I’m feeling lazy. Not driving. That weather is still a serious, legitimate topic of conversation (I contend that it’s the best small talk, who ever heard of anything more real or concrete than the natural world and it’s happenings, weather talk should be called real talk.) Not paying utility bills. The fact that it’s a city built for pedestrians; there’s even an agency, which polices walkers, for real. It’s called the Traffic Management Authority. They ticket jaywalking, not in my part of town, but downtown! The smells that waft in from every train stop, alleyway, and door; the frying onions, baking bread, grilling meat. The sounds of trains, buses, and planes. People everywhere, tiny city parks filled with kids playing, old people reading, well-loved by all stripes of people. Passing people speaking any and every language. Holidays for every ethnicity that the entire city recognizes and celebrates, because it’s just another reason to celebrate. That there’s a Jewish deli two doors down from my Mexican produce market. Not driving; not knowing/caring how much gas costs. That I’m fifteen minutes from the beach, in the morning I hear the seagulls AND woodpeckers outside of my open window. And despite the stressful or frustrating days, I never question the worth of my day anymore.