I’ve never seen the Hudson so unbothered. I can’t see a single boat moving on the water. I can hear a little bit of some car horns in the distance, and the highway sounds from the HH, but otherwise it’s quite beautiful here in the morning. The sounds of the city never really bothered me anyway. I love writing as a normal human being, as myself. I’m no longer writing to be a “good” writer, whatever that means. I’m writing for a bunch of different reasons, but mainly to keep track of my chaotic mind.

I adore listening to the city when I’m overwhelmed. It’s quite a strange thing for someone with ADHD, but the chaos of the city really calms me down. The sounds of the city have different weights depending on the season or time of day. My windows don’t open all the way, because of safety reasons, I guess meaning suicide, which is a funny way to design anything. It’s a sign of the times, when you have to consider that people will want to jump out of the window, rather than live in the apartment.

Even though the windows don’t fully open, if I stand really close, and close my eyes, I can hear everything all at once. There is a comfort in knowing that the world is still moving, regardless of your intentions for the day. The city is often described as ruthless, but I don’t know if that’s true. It really doesn’t care if you’re anxious or about to frantically fully open that window with your $6 screwdriver tip you bought from Amazon. I used to carry cat food with me in Riyadh, now I carry a little oatmeal for the pigeons because of a wobbly pigeon I met. If you try to decipher the sounds of the city, if you genuinely attempt to hear and distinguish them, then you’ll find an exorbitant amount of kindness wafting through the ether along with the unfortunate smell of sewage.

I was once walking down the street heading to the 59th street station trying to catch the B train. I always tried to time my pace to be efficient and not stand too long at intersections. It annoyed my friends significantly, but kept me preoccupied. I couldn’t get the timing just right that day and got delayed a bit getting to the station, the train was arriving and I started to shuffle. I went down the stairs and saw the train, a few feet away, about to leave. There was a guy standing inside the car right by the door, he saw me pacing, and he rotated his foot slightly to keep the door from closing. What astonished me the most was how subtle it was. He didn’t really mind if I saw him trying to help me or not, there weren’t any theatrics or words exchanged, no thank yous and welcomes, and if I hadn’t glimpsed down by chance, that gesture would have disappeared forever.

Finally the first boat is here, and the water is disturbed for the day, but there will be tomorrow.