I mean, are we? We are, right? Because it only really works if we all agree and thus it isn’t just one of us caught and cuffed red-handed in the back of a cop car.
And what I mean is, we’ve all decided to delay this whole “growing up” thing, right? It’s why we’re here. Most of our friends from home are married with a few children, a big SUV in the driveway of their big house with an actual mailbox and packages that reliably get delivered. Their mortgages are less than our rent, their closets are bigger than our kitchens, their 401k’s exist and are more well-nourished than our bodies are on a daily basis.
They shop in bulk. They are on committees. They choose backsplashes. Their hands are usually clean.
And if you are here, if you are reading this, then you are not them. You have chosen a different path, one that steered you right past Comfortable and Expected and landed you here, on this island, in the city of dreams. And regardless of how long you’ve been here or how often you shower, I know your hands are not clean.
You have been summoned here, somehow. That oxidizing Statue of Freedom just off our shores has beckoned us for over 140 years, saying, “Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,” Give me your hungry, your tenacious. Bring me your invincible, your savages. Come. Come here.
I don’t know for sure, but I hear there’s a big vat of hand sanitizer upon permanent exit from the city. But until you reach it, dig in, Brooklyn. Dig deep, get dirty, leave your mark, paint it red. It’s what you came for.
And me? Well, I’ll be your accomplice, of course… if you’ll let me.
Leave a Reply