3:00 A.M.: I am immersed in a dark, sketchy morning with wanderers who wear oversized jackets and chains and loiter the streets. Sky-high buildings are lit, illuminating the night sky, yet not a soul is present inside. Here and there sit tragic beggars, pleading for a fraction of a dollar. The city is not what I had expected it to be. And at first, unfortunately, I am afraid.
We check into our hotel room while I contemplate the disappointment of what I thought would be the most spectacular moment of my life-- living in New York City.
I lay awake.
But it’s bizarre. Time passes by so quickly when the world is asleep. Five hours can feel like one.
And then the sun rises like a flower blooming in daylight.
The night can be dead silent, leaving your thoughts to yourself. In the midst of definite solitude, you hear beeping delivery trucks making stops, engines starting, and people dragging themselves to work.
I glance outside the window and discover taxis honking and people struggling in and out of Starbucks, lost in their own world. Vendors begin setting up their stations while voices fill the smoky, city air. The world’s hands of time are gradually continuing their work.
The world is waking up, and I remember how small I feel. I remember thinking: I would give anything for it to stay this way.
In that moment, I realize we travel, in essence, to become young fools again—to moderate our time and get taken in, and fall in love with the world once more.