The world expands before you from a rooftop on the Hipster-Fringe of Williamsburg and this could be the start of everything for you; this is where you must settle and soon, I think. It is May 1 and I have traveled around Manhattan and Brooklyn demonstrating for immigrants' rights and against Arizona public policy, searching in vain for an OTB to blow money on a Kentucky Derby trifecta that will not happen, playing soccer after drinking Tall Boys and gin-n-Sobe in Central Park and singing 'Hey Ya' in a karaoke bar. What made this day? I reveled in the greatest city, but it was the friends with whom I shared it.
The world expands before you from a tent in Indio and the mountains and desert and Southern California are limitless and everyone else in the world has dreamed this already, I think. Yesterday, I stared at the mountains from the airplane and thought they looked like the skin on top of my forearm when I pinch a wave of its blonde hair and pull up. Today, I wonder how the snow survives on those mountains when the sun turns that same arm hair into transparent wisps on my pink skin. It is April 16 and I have traveled from Los Angeles through windmilled desert to a giant oasis of art and music. What made this day? I listened to my favorite musicians in an exotic land, but it was the friends with whom I shared it.
The world expands before you from another rooftop, this time overlooking the Massachusetts State House, sailboats on the Charles River and, scattered in the distance, the places that gave you your best friends; yes, of course, this is where you belong and with whom you belong, I think. It is March 20 and I left six months ago. Now I am back planning a long series of events and goals to pursue, though I will feel content if I only achieve a handful. What made this day? I leaned over a vista fit for film, but it was the friends with whom I shared it.
The world expands before you from a stoplight on Main Street in Hackettstown where Hispanic immigrants stand outside the Columbian bakery and hope for work; you can help them somehow, you can rehabilitate this place, I think. It is February 8 and I am traveling from my family's home to my job working with people with developmental disabilities - a job I enjoy. Later, when I return to this area after hiking with a client, I notice a sign outside the nearby florist's shop that advertises a free rose for anyone named Jason. Jason, my client, smiles, picks out a rose and decides to give it to his aunt for her Birthday. What made this day? I saw life in my hometown, but it was the friends with whom I shared it.
The world expands before you from the base of Brandenburg Gate where one million pairs of feet melt the falling snow; this is the continent where you ought to stay, where you will learn about the world, I think. It is Silvester in Berlin and my friend and I have smuggled fireworks and champagne juiceboxes into 2010. Melted snow saturates my socks and wrinkles my purple toes and I hope the hot wine I drank will warm my non-vital organs and extremities. Later, I climb a chain link fence and almost cry when I spot my friend after the crowd had separated us. What made this day? I sang for good fortune with hundreds of thousands of strangers, but it was the friends with whom I shared it.
I finished college one year ago and I wonder where I will settle and what I will do. I know I will enjoy both, however.