Week by Week

It has now been two weeks and while I cry less, the days haven’t gotten any easier. The sleepless nights have started. Being around people is becoming a chore. Everything seems too loud and too bright. I got a new Nikon to distract me and because creativity strikes only when I’m at my lowest. Now all I want is to escape. I keep searching for vacation packages and tours in Europe. I would sell whatever I could if it meant I could go to Paris for a week to do nothing but eat cheese and bread and drink wine and read. Before I got married, I would pack up a small suitcase and run away to New York when I needed to get lost. Now I’m tied to this place and these people I love. I’m not the only one suffering so I can’t just leave. I have to find comfort in escaping in books.

In Harold Rabinowitz’s book A Passion for Books, there is an essay by Anna Quindlen titled “How Reading Changed My Life”. In it, she writes,

“Perhaps it is true that at base we readers are dissatisfied people, yearning to be elsewhere, to live vicariously through words in a way we cannot live directly through life. Perhaps we are the world’s great nomads, if only in our minds … Books are the plane, and the train, and the road. They are the destination, and the journey. They are home.”

I’ll have to find a book about the New York I miss so much.