I meant to publish this opening statement a while ago. I meant to do a lot of things a while ago, but that’s beside the point. I guess we all wait for these moments to support themselves. Truly though, the moments need you to decide when they’re ready to be published. So, here I am, speaking on things I’ve only learned in the past two years in a city I love and hate. What it takes to live where I live, do what I do, love the things I love.
I went to college in a town nestled inside mountain crevices. We students took advantage of natural thrills: bear watching, eating French fries while watching the sunset, rock climbing, and of course, cracking a cold one after hiking less than a mile. I know what you’re thinking. Each of those things are the opposite of thrilling. Thrill is in the eye of the beholder, in my opinion. Can we agree that cliff jumping is a pretty wild time? I would say so. That’s where I’ll begin.
My freshman year was wrapping up 7 long years ago, and a couple of friends and I wanted to check some things off the Boone, NC bucket list. Jumping off Compression Falls was one of them. Not exactly a cliff, Compression Falls sat deep down in this river valley where if you screamed no one would hear and if you tried to use your cell phone the No Service icon would scream at you. My friends wore flip flops because they were naive but super cute. If I’m being honest we were all a little naive. The treacherous way down can only be described as a right angle of sharp, convoluted obstacles. Like American Ninja Warrior except you didn’t know you were on the show until the buzzer went off. We fell quite a bit, and at times slid down on our butts for maximum traction in case of sudden slips. Friends? Cute. Hiking into a bottomless pit in flip-flops? Not cute.
We made it down, minus our dignity and plus one busted lip. The falls made it worth it. The rushing water, untouched by humanity (aside from college students in the afternoon) river flowing underneath this gorgeous canopy of green, glowing from the sun passing through was positively stunning. After climbing around the falls on solid ground, you could get to the top and look out from your perch. Once one finally made it to that point, there was only one way out: jumping down into the abyss.
Are you ready people? Here comes the existential realization that life is a metaphor equating to jumping over waterfalls, following your heart and not looking back. Taking the leap and reaping its rewards only after you’ve jumped. The idea behind every inspirational quote you’ve set as your iPhone or Android screen background. What every blogger has spoken about at least once, or will speak about at least once. Here you go risk takers, this is your moment.
I’ve never been that cool. And I have witnesses who can corroborate.
No, the moral of this story is not leaping into the abyss. Although I watched my friends do just that, and took some really rad pictures for them from below. I myself did not throw my body off the cliff. I watched and consumed every moment from the bottom of the falls in complete, delighted contentment. Eventually I climbed out of the river valley with my friends and we headed home.
When I went hiking on the Blue Ridge Parkway, I’d get to the top and absorb. Most times I thought about what it would be like to fling myself over the edge. Not in a college student dramatics sort of way, but in an all-encompassing I want to be completely surrounded by air way. I wanted to feel like a bird, see what they see. I look back at my one and only Compression Falls trip, and I remember the pebbles that slowly rolled under my feet. When they caught my shoe wrong and I slipped, like a clumsy cartoon, falling right on my ass. I was pulling on branches for support, and turning around to head down backwards, unaware of where I was stepping next. Little beetles, little details. I remember questioning why we ever wanted to go down there, and felt frustration boil up in my chest, when I scraped both my knees. But I kept going. The progression towards an epiphany only realized after I’d put the work in.
Exactly two years ago I moved from Atlanta, GA, my home state, to New York City, my childhood dream. Two years ago I would have catapulted myself into the oblivion that is New York, and only after being squashed on the ground, would I have looked back to shake my head at my mistake. The pebbles I rolled over to get here, the encouraging beetles who refined my state of mind, the twigs and branches I used to slowly pull myself off the ground, were necessary.
At 1:38 a.m. I stood underground, waiting for the 6 train to take me home to the sweet solace of my bed. A slow rumble sounded far off, slowly growing louder and more terrifying. When it shot past, emotion gripped my chest. I stepped back, consumed by the air and the sound of this train hightailing it downtown. I saw glimpses of faces being pulled along through the windows. It felt alien and outlandish. Even though we’re all aware that the street’s rats share our subways and there are some smells I’d rather not know the origin of, I had this feeling of delighted contentment. I’d landed in the city of my dreams after years of hard work, dedication, and passion. There was my epiphany after a slow progression.
So, as I take on this journey of writing in New York City, I hope to slip a bunch, and even get a – hopefully metaphorical – busted lip. When I do, make sure to read about it here. There will surely be many attempts (some successful, some not) at stylish street pics. Mostly though, you’ll find the general faux pas that come from a slow progression towards raw beauty.