I find myself on Bleeker St., leaning against a wall, watching the world go by. It’s my favorite thing to do.

There’s a pizza spot across the road from which people come and go. Looks good as any, so I amble in and order a few slices.

I get my pizza and open the box. That sly son of a! The homie running the shop threw in an extra slice of cheese. I don’t put on any toppings; I try it as it is, the way god intended. The other slices are more eclectic—buffalo chicken, honey pepperoni, Tuscan; I eat half and take them home.

Did you throw in an extra slice of cheese? I ask the homie Edgar at the register. Yessir, he says, you’ve gotta try traditional New York. That’s how you know the quality of a shop. People are so cool.

Walking down the road after turning from the pizza shop. This dude sipping a bottle with his buddy calls out, Hey, bro, let me get that pizza! I’ll give it back tomorrow! Eyyy I laugh. He comes and daps me up and says I like that bro, you said eyyyyy.

Endless encounters. Content on my own. Wandering, cold night. On my way home. The freedom to move. Back to the dojo, home base, finding my groove. It feels good. Feels like me. It’s life. Slice of heaven mixed with destiny. Does it mean every step will be easy? I’ve already battled demons. I wanna find my way and make it here. Don’t mean to sound cheesy. Life is high and low no matter where you go.

Sitting at a coffee shop in the morning by the window. Watching life go by. Observing the old school building across the road with its fire escapes creating silhouettes against the gray brick in bright morning light. Old buildings. History. People here move fast. I’m gonna run my own race. Move slow. Observe.

I love being in a place where everyone’s got style, people’s tastes embodied in their dress. Can I compliment every person with style that I see? Maybe. I can try.

They say New York is gonna change you. But I think it just gives you permission to be yourself. New city same kid, never felt more like myself.

I need people. I gotta be outside when the sun goes down. If this is the last day of life on Earth, I’ll see it through to the end.

It’s a drizzly blue night. Walking down Fifth Avenue. This place is pure civilization. Concrete mountains fade into the misty silver sky. I find the city so beautiful in the cold blue rain. All of us making something of it. What do we conceive as beautiful? Is it only what’s natural? Or is it what human mind is capable of creating? In the age of AI, human-made imperfection is what I crave.

We’ve created this—the city our art. Our art the way we live in the city.

I take my first long walk from my place in Chinatown up to Central Park.

At night, sitting under the trees, it feels right. I look around, and there are these castles in the atmosphere surrounding this place. The sky is purple and dark; the lights shining all around like stars, soaring into an endless vault. Nothing. It’s all down here.

But we make towers. I like cities where I look up. Feel as alive as I do when traveling. Yet comfortable and grounded, at home. I really don’t know what more I need from life but this feeling. Because it’s always there inside of me. Wonder, joy. Curiosity. Creativity, playfulness. Light. That’s what it distills into.

Why am I here. What do I feel. A light inside, but I don’t know where to let it shine. I don’t know what my purpose is. I’m a writer. At least that’s what I’ve come to say when people ask. What does that mean? I write stories like these.

But I feel like I could be so much more. The city is a web with so much possibility, I feel like I’m not living up to my potential if I don’t shoot for the stars. But where do I start? How do I find what I’m meant to do? I want to be a part of it.

Lose myself in it. Create things and contribute in a way that makes the world shine brighter when seen from outer space; this city—I’m drowning.

I want adventure. It’s what I’ve always wanted more than anything else. You feel purpose on an adventure. You’re going somewhere that you can’t understand. And that gives you something—the feeling that what we’re experiencing on this planet isn’t meaningless. And if it is, the way we live gives it meaning, because the way we live changes the light in the sky, the color of the flowers, the ease in somebody else’s heart. I know that’s why I’m here. I just don’t know what it means.

I’m afraid of losing myself. I’m afraid of finding myself, and maybe realizing I’m not who I think I am. This life that I’ve lived, what does it amount to—the things I’ve made, what purpose do they serve? Is the light I feel inside as bright as it seems, or is it only emotion, desire to be something I’m not. How do we know what to do?

Tears fall, and it feels good, the release. I have interests, but it can feel like staring into an abyss, not knowing what to make of them. I can feel the stress of that uncertainty in my body. Familiar sensations, pain. That tells me I need to relax. Take in some sunshine. It’s a sunny spring day today; this is the adventure, not knowing what today, next week, or next year is gonna look like.

It’s a sunny spring day. We can get through anything with music.

Maybe my purpose is just to feel the sun.

Everything is gonna be okay.