I've been in New York long enough to know that occasionally I need to leave. I used to be able to hop on a bus and end up at my sister's house in New Jersey in just forty minutes. Spending a night or the weekend there was restoring. Her kids make me laugh and she makes sensational dinner spreads. It was a beautiful respite from the hustle and bustle here.
Now, I know that I still need those weekends away even though my sister lives very far from here, so I have to make them happen for myself. Last week, in the woods of the Catskills with friends I experienced my first tiny home. The drive up was idyllic, it smelled like the country and grass. Even though the house was tiny, it contained the space required to take a deep breath.
We hit four swimming holes, jumped off rocks, hiked to waterfalls and ate hot dogs for dinner every night. We discussed important things like what it means to roast a marshmallow to perfection, and the best front flip techniques. Our entire crew was comprised of photographers and filmmakers so our only rule was that you had to pull over if someone wanted to get a shot; it is camera club rule number one.
It was only a two day trip, but upon returning I felt like I had been gone for a month. Looking around on the drive back I was surprised that no significant changes had happened to the city, shouldn't it look different by now? All of the New Yorkers were going about business as usual, as if nothing special had happened.
That's when I realized it's never the city that changes, only me.