I’m typing this the day before I hop on a plane for New York. It’s my first time going to the States, and it’s also the first time I’ve visited the other coast of North America. So needless to say, I’m excited. It’s the city of stories; so many comics, novels and movie set themselves there, that I feel like I’m going to walk through someone else’s narrative…
We mythologize, romanticize, idealize or demonize this city; I’m hard pressed to think of a city with more depth or status in North America. (Cities like Montreal might have history, but few have the national or international clout.) Being in theatre, New York seems to be one of the few Meccas for the art form. It’s also where movie stars go to become legitimate stage actors. Most of the American literature I enjoy comes from New York in setting or it’s author… Thomas Pynchon or Paul Auster, for example. Some of the most famous buildings, galleries and museums live here as well. For someone coming from a land of oil and prairie, this is where culture seems to live without battling for every breath.
It’s also the home of where true adult understanding began for me, where reality came home despite being the city of dreams. 9/11 was an event that brought me from the period of hope and youthful optimism to a world where bad things can happen, and the good guys don’t always win. Couple that with a disastrous presidency launched by the event, and 9/11 becomes the defining moment of my adult life.
I’m looking forward to getting the pavement of story city beneath my feet, soaking in the backdrop of Spider-Man and Daredevil, but I’m also waiting to see the site where a big slice of my personal history began.
Coming soon: reports from the trip!