I read this in a book I checked out of the library: out of all the stations on the New York City Subway, 275 are fully underground. that’s 59%. add a couple more percent and you get 61% riding beneath the surface. the rest — elevated, embanked, open-cut — see sky. but most of us are underneath.
I started thinking about that — the sheer number of people moving through tunnels every day. shuttling from the east side to the west, from uptown to midtown to downtown, eyes half-lidded or wide and tired. thousands of faces in fluorescent light. strangers shoulder to shoulder. some reading. some scrolling. some staring at nothing. some praying. some probably wishing they were anywhere else. or someone else.
what dreams are we carrying in all that dark? what fears? what regrets? what regular Monday-morning anxieties and massive end-of-the-world ones live side-by-side in those crowded cars? and how few of us ever say them out loud.
I ride my bike, mostly. I like the air, even when it’s heavy with city grit. I like knowing where the sun is. sometimes I skateboard. sometimes I take the long way home just to breathe a little longer.
recovery is a ride, too — some of it above ground, a lot of it below. it’s better, for now, but I still carry it with me, every day. I don’t name it all the time — the things I’m carrying, the work I’m doing to stay steady. but it’s always with me.
my days are full, and sometimes so am I — with effort, with feeling, with trying. still, the one place I get to lay it down — gently, without explanation — is in my music. that’s where it turns into something I can touch. something that feels a little like grace.
underground or above, we’re all holding something. me too. but I’m learning to carry mine with both hands. not drop it. not deny it. just keep going, until the weight becomes melody. until it sings back.
I just dropped some new songs on my Bandcamp. I’ll start sharing them here this week. stay tuned. okay, bye.
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