Jeff Buckley – Hallelujah
Today I had brunch on the Upper West Side with my new love Ian Kroll, where I stuffed myself with pancakes and scrambled eggs and almost offensively delicious bacon. We walked back to his apartment and then I decided instead of taking the subway home, and since I had nothing else to do with my Sunday except laundry, that I’d just walk home. I ended up walking the full 120 blocks, past Morningside Park, past my old apartment, along Central Park West, through Columbus Circle, and eventually down 7th Avenue to stop in at the Chelsea Hotel, and then on to Greenwich Village. It was my favorite kind of day – rainy and green – when everything around you suddenly seems to take on so much meaning.
Sometimes on days like this I feel weirdly conscious of what it will feel like to look back on this part of my life and see it as dated. Maybe it’s because the lighting looks like an old photograph. It’s like I’m suddenly able to see all the things about myself the way we do when we remember our younger selves: for our sweet ingenuousness, our ability to find joy in things and be surprised, the way our hearts lit up for people and were crossed with fiery thrill at things that scared or shocked us, and most of all, those moments when as young people we were for a moment able to see straight to the pearly center of something and feel that stab of awareness to our own context in the world. On days like this I feel like I’m walking backwards away from myself. Sometimes I wonder if I’ll ever be able to see myself as a grownup, since I’m so easily able to look back on where I am at any given moment.