Surrounded or isolated?

Fleeting intimacy in New York City

One of the beauties of living in a city like New York is being surrounded by thousands of strangers every day. It allows for random moments of life-collision with people I will never see again. I might be close enough to smell the cologne of someone next to me on a packed subway car. Or hear a song someone is listening in a quiet elevator — faint sounds escaping from their headphones. Or overhear a conversation that reveals someone’s deepest struggles. It’s strange. Opening a window into a parallel life. Separate, but so accessible. Within reach.

We all follow unwritten, but universally understood rules that keep us in our own bubbles. Eyes on phone. Noise canceling headphones on. Scroll to avoid awkwardness. What would happen if you broke the social code?

I create games for myself. On some days, I like staring at people through windows until they look back. And when they do, I hold their gaze. Letting the moment linger for a bit. An impromptu staring contest. It has to be through a window — preferably in a subway car just before it leaves the station or in a cab at a red light. Or someone reading in a cafe as I’m walking by.

It’s intimate and distant at the same time. And it feels like dancing on the edge of a cliff just before jumping off. So many questions that will never be answered. And in a way, this is how I like it. Keeping people at an arm's length. There’s so much freedom in that. Probably unhealthy, maybe an indicator of some real interpersonal issues. But it’s a fun game.

All games have some risk — what if they train car were to get stuck in the station? Or what if the person gets out of the cab? What if the person next to me in the elevator turns and says hello? In that moment invisible glass shatters. Opening a world of possibilities. Pandora’s box.

Is it worth opening? Letting in the light, the risk, the conflict, all the ways for things to go wrong? It’s so safe and fun to stay inside my own head. But it’s a prison of my own design.

Because sometimes a conversation with the right person can turn your world upside down in all the right ways. Invigorating and inspiring and exciting. And you think to yourself, “this is what makes life worth living.”

But people also have surprising ways of showing you how much they suck. And everyone sucks at least a little — the small flaws can remind you of the bigger pain that flows like groundwater deep inside yourself.

People hurt each other in such unique ways. Accidentally, intentionally, collaterally, in the heat of the moment, small, big. Sometimes it's all the little things. Hitting every tiny crack in your heart that you tried to glue and tape together.

And so I like living in my own head. Sometimes I like altering reality just a little — a slight distortion so I can sleep at night. Call it imagination. Call it perspective. The mind wanders — a blank canvas on which I can dream of possibilities. I can play all my favorite songs in my headphones and let myself ride a rollercoaster of thoughts, sweeping in and out of the present moment.

I enjoy being alone, but I’m starting to realize that maybe it’s a matter of perspective. The recluse or the outcast?

Here I am. By myself, observing. When does being alone become less indulgent and more sad? When should I stop playing games in my head and start making choices in reality?