This is a direct continuation of my last piece on internalized aloneness, catalyzed by my re-arrival to New York. One thing I realized is that my recent blog posts have all this weird skeptical pessimistic undertone. I think there's been a patchwork of personal issues —  aka 

— that have bubbled up to the surface. This has distracted me from my ability to enjoy, to play, to relish in presence. I feel my cortisol levels gradually rising and oscillating like an ominous beach tide at dusk. Maybe I also should drink more water.

The good thing is that I've integrated a few practices into my life recently that will likely offset the build-up in my metaphorical pressure cooker. One of these things is buying a new WHOOP wearable in tandem with a new Sleep Coach to biohack my wellness routines. 

That was my initial response too. But hey, I've talked about improving my sleep health forever (albeit half-heartedly), and what better way than to subscribe to a personalized service that will crack the whip if I slip up? We'll see how I feel a few weeks from now, but I'm personally very optimistic about combining a data-driven health regimen with a therapy-style accountability mechanism. 

                                                                         .  .  . 

A few evenings ago I went on what has become one of my favourite, albeit very niche, activities in the city: a mindful meditation musical walk. Sounds like a mouthful, but the experience is run by artistic tech pioneer Murray Hidary. A quick description: “

MindTravel brings together Murray's passions for contemporary classical music, visual art, theoretical physics and wisdom traditions

”. You can see why such an experience would stand out to me, being so multidisciplinary and intentionally-crafted. By creating the space and permission to actually feel and connect with others and the world around you, Murray mitigates the soul-sucking, autopilot-mode grip that big cities traditionally hold over people.  

But how exactly does this work? The premise might seem complicated, but the in-person practice is super simple. You put on headphones, Murray plays a custom-composed meditative track and talks into your ear throughout, and you just... walk. I had the pleasure of attending the same Brooklyn Bridge walk last year. Each step you take, in tune with the serene soundtrack, both transports you into a new state of mind and plugs you into your surroundings. You start noticing unique aspects of the spaces and strangers that you would've overlooked before. There's beauty in simplicity — we just miss it if we're always heads-down, and that's a good reminder for myself as well. 

Recently I re-read one of Linus Lee's pieces titled: 

. Timely, relevant, and expressive: all things I appreciate in good writing! I've pulled out two parts that I think are especially impactful, both language choice and underlying meaning:

. It flows through the impeccably regular grid of streets and clockwork subways. It flows through the rivers that struggle to contain the bursting attitude and self-importance of Manhattan. It flows through the booming voices and excited chatters of standup comics and street artists and food trucks and Michelin-starred kitchens. And in that turbulent rush, 

. Even the executives in suits and fancy wristwatches descend down their skyscrapers at the end of the day to burrow underground and wade through the streets to make their way home.

. And the essence of the city is found deep in that mixture."

I like the framing of “flow” because it's a powerful word that implies 

. It links this concept to New York, a city where you can both lose yourself and find yourself in the same blush. It's a type of immersion within a wildly diverse population, not unlike a forest canopy lined with critters, crawlers, and creatures that all contribute to the ecosystem. Swirling and swishing, that's what makes the New York energy so undeniably enticing. More from Linus: 

"New York isn’t special merely for what it has. 

What defines New York is not what it is today, but what it takes itself for and what it yearns to be

. New York is a liminal place. People don’t come and stay here to enjoy what they have. They arrive in search of what they don’t have yet, and who they have not yet become. People come here to be more creative, more cultured, more powerful. The allure of New York City is 

the beauty of wholeheartedly, completely, utterly, desperately searching for the next thing

 – in business, fashion, tech, and in life. The deafening flow of the city 

The same sentiment can be redirected at myself: what defines me is not what I am today, but what I take myself for and what I yearn to be. I love how we come back to the theme of identity. The shapeshifting liminal space, the movement of the psyche, the beauty in the unmade. All part of the same recipe, of this distinct city's heartbeat. 

Here's to taking on the city full-force, obliterating mediocrity with no half-measures :) 