My sister finally came to visit me. I took her to Little Italy, the East Village, the West Village, Chelsea, and the Upper East Side. The entire time we walked around, I was two to three feet ahead of her. “Pick up the pace,” I kept yelling. She couldn’t- she is unable to rush. In Maryland, we didn’t rush, but here we do. We rush for no reason. My rushing doesn’t feel like rushing anymore, and my slow weekend pace is a brisk, wide stride.

There are rarely times when I appreciate this city with a cool, laid back pace. I think I’m going to start. No rushing to catch the train- if I miss it, then I miss it. No more running before the red hand stops blinking. At least once a week I will try this.