Cities at night

I love cities at night. Both the concept of them, observed from a step back--say, from up on high--and the practice. By the former I suppose I mean the abstraction of city-at-night, where you have an amalgam of elements (all the things that comprise a city--buildings that block views of the sky and then pass behind you, streets with cars all impatiently on their way... someplace, people largely disinterested in anyone else, but still willing to look, to inspect--with darkness, streetlights, an increased sense of isolation, but simultaneously a slightly greater sense of curiosity about others and their activities added added to of that), and by the latter I mean my experience in them. It's an idealized experience, to be sure, played out in safe parts of cities and tinged by no ill happenings, but it's comforting and one I'm not trying to change.

It should come as no great surprise to anyone who reads this that I think of myself, often, as an observer. Slightly at a remove, slightly disinvolved, watching, thinking. It's likely the little furious introvert that lives in, and often takes over, my brain. Another fact that will not shock anyone is that I walk, both for entertainment and for sanity. Often not just the motion, not just the music--and between the two, a certain zen-like absence of thought--although it usually starts out that way. There comes a certain juxtaposition of observation and introspection, and it often proves unexpectedly cathartic.

Look at the world. Look at the city around you--living, breathing. See the cars all on their solitary missions out of and back into the darkness beyond your perception. See the streetlights, shining down the wide and (comparatively) empty streets, allowing a city to have vanishing points in every direction you look (well, four, anyway--and more a traffic circles). Watch the people, going to or from late night events, often in fancy clothing (or bar clothing); smile at the Late Night Dog Walker's Brigade (there are chapters in every city I've ever lived in, I swear); see the couples sitting in picturesque places, talking and kissing if they don't think there's anyone looking; laugh--quietly--at the skateboarders and other assorted packs of teenagers looking for amusement.

The world goes on, regardless of what's going on with you, personally. It may not care particularly, and it may not help at all. But to see that the world goes on, and to really think on it suggests that this, too, shall pass. This may not be the best of all possible worlds (I am neither the optimist that believes this nor the pessimist who fears it), but it's where we are, and in a sense we're rather stuck with it. So make your peace and move on with the world. It'll keep going, keep functioning, keep passing smoothly from day to night and back again. The notion of 'Let that be enough,' I suppose, is the catharsis that I come to on my late night walks. Let the city keep on as it has, I naively think, and everything will fall into place as it follows suit. It's possible I'm walking less for myself as such and more to make sure that the city is continuing.

Let that be enough.