131 West 35th Street, NY, NY

West 35th Street, New York, New York

New Yorkers, and might I say, people on the eastern seaboard, in general, are called rude, rushed and aggressive.

But New Yorkers themselves will tell you they are not rude, rushed or aggressive.
They just have someplace to go.

It is as if they are all running by a magic clock.

Timeliness is a demand, not a virtue.

It was an unusually warm day in December as I walked down the street, admiring decorations, thinking over my appointments and dreaming of my future and what lied ahead.

I could no longer deny that these are my people and they understand me in the east.

The land of the rising sun.

Grief and separation is what drove me away some twenty three years ago, seeking to rebuild my life, but outside of Penn Station all the familiar feelings of the pace and the energy filled me. Intuitively, I knew how to jay walk and how to say “Excuse me, please.” if I was trying to get past someone stopped in the laberinth of people marching like ants to their destination. My footsteps fell with the audible step of progression.

And, there, in the roar of the asphalt jungle, was the goodness of all that surrounded me.

You just have to look closely, but it is there.

A woman, rushing past us, dropping six dollars. The wind carried it across the sidewalk. She didn’t know she had lost it. The invisible clock ticked and she had to meet her deadline of having her body in the right place, in the right building at the right time.

“Mam’! M’am! M’am!” The woman cried loudly despite the crowd of people rushing past us. Quickly she threw herself onto the pavement to retrieve the money for the stranger.
“The money fell out of your pocket!”
“Thank you.” She smiled and took the bills from the woman's hand.

If anything is excellent or praise worthy, think about such things.

Excellent.
Praise worthy.

New Yorkers are such things.