Good morning, Monday. Prayers to all my friends in Florida- hoping for a speedy recovery from the storm. 

We all know what today is and every year I remember and I never will forget. I have often said I only like cities where dreams are made (and crushed) and New York is the poster child for people longing for a life of inspiration, success, movement, and constant stimulation. You don't come to New York to sit on your ass- we all know that. And though the New York of my twenties is slowly rushing through the sands of the hourglass, New York will always be more than just a place. Just a city. Just a home. It's my home. My spiritual home. My heart. My soul. All of it. And I have deep gratitude and humility for this crazy town. And I can never forget what happened here, to my city, to my home, to my heart and soul.

And for that I give you a quote from one of the most infamous stories written about New York by E.B. White in his wonderful ode to the city, "Here is New York", written in 1948 and an excellent and insightful read to this very day. He could not have known the horror we would see, or the changes that would happen here, but his observations on this beautiful place ring true today, and I love this quote in particular:

“A poem compresses much in a small space and adds music, thus heightening its meaning. The city is like poetry: it compresses all life, all races and breeds, into a small island and adds music and the accompaniment of internal engines. The island of Manhattan is without any doubt the greatest human concentrate on earth, the poem whose magic is comprehensible to millions of permanent residents but whose full meaning will always remain elusive.” 

And though New Yorkers may seem like the biggest know-it-alls to people who don't live here, we're actually quite the opposite. We bask in the glory of a city we are constantly trying to unravel, discover, and reveal . That's what keeps us all here- the elusive magic of the new mixed with the old, the paradox of rich and poor on a somehow level playing field called humanity, the sweeping landscape and island of possibilities. I will never stop loving New York- and for those who think New York is not America think again- because although we may not live in a rust belt or corn belt or any other kind of belt, we all live here together in diversity and poetry and rhythmic motion. I am still so in love with New York because there is always something new I can learn, see, or do here. That's what makes New York great, and that's what makes America great. And on this day,  I celebrate the city that still keeps me on my tiptoes day after day. New York, I love you. But you already knew that. And I will never, ever forget. Of this, I am certain. This city is truly poetic. At least it is to me. And like most great poems- there is a pulse, a beat, sadness, reflection, and often, resolution. 

Cause that's what's up this Big Apple of my eye kind of Monday in the greatest city on Earth. Yours, in perseverance and magical settings and elusive beauty. XO