Today, I enjoyed quality time with myself for the first time in a while.
The past week I was living my life for other people, putting their interests and desires above my own. For what reason, I know not. No more of that.
Today I resolved to start living for myself again, and the things I did today, I think, served as healthy little steps in the right direction.
I went to Bluestockings, a small, independent book store in the Bowery centered around queer studies, activism, and general rebellion. I browsed their selection and made note of writers I want to read--Alice Walker and Amber L. Hollibaugh among them. I sat and read a book I purchased from a thrift store earlier, Ways of Reading, deconstructing the writing process and ideas of Gloria E. Anzaldúa while enjoying the store's tasty one-dollar coffee. I fell in love with the place. I'm going back tomorrow for a reading.
After a good while, I left and allowed myself to wander aimlessly, allowing only my stomach to guide me to a suitable restaurant.
Though I should be trying to save money, I cast all inhibitions aside and treated myself to a rather expensive dish of something, the name of which I cannot pronounce nor remember. It contained tomatoes and chiles and two eggs and green stuff that was in a lot of the dishes in Poland (not the green stuff that I hate, the other green stuff) and probably lots of other ingredients, and it was served with a pita. I enjoyed my meal while reading the free copy of Girls Like Us Magazine that I'd picked up from Bluestockings.
After finishing up, I stepped back out into the street, enjoying the feeling of the warm air on my skin (for once, it didn't rain). I took pictures on my phone of things that made me smile. I marveled at the fact that the city remains alive and bustling even on a Sunday night.
I thought of a woman who lived in the area--the woman who, on Thursday night, gave me a squished piece of Lindt chocolate and kissed my eyebrows and tied me up and made me weep, and then made me a breakfast of eggs and espresso in the morning.
As I waited to cross Kenmare Street, I looked at a tall, lit-up building in the distance and then I down at my bag and my feet. I assessed my situation. In my younger days, I would never have pictured myself ending up where I was in that moment. Never, ever could I have pictured it. I felt proud of the person I have become--not 100 percent proud, but much prouder than I've felt lately. I felt happy. Elated, even. I have ended up somewhere within the realm of where I wanted to be at this age.
There is no need for me to be restless and to want to move on. I am here, I am already here--exactly where I need to be.