Are you my city

Last Wednesday I went to a yoga class, where the yoga teacher, Lila, began the class with a article she was reading. It was written by a disabled actor in hollywood. Maybe it was this one: http://www.theatlantic.com/entertainment/archive/2014/07/why-disabled-characters-are-never-played-by-disabled-actors/374822/. The main point was that able-bodied actors are often cast as disabled characters, in part because it is easier for the audience to look at them, knowing that after the performance they go about their life unhindered by the disability. And she says that she has heard a disabled friend say that this is what hurts the most, for someone disabled, when people avert their gaze when passing them, when they are unwilling to acknowledge that existence.

And so Lila asked the class to take a moment to look at each other, in this city, where people have been trained to not look at each other, to drop that guard and look at each other, softly, with kindness. Not the judging, looking up and down, critical look; nor the staring, creepy look; just acknowledging each other for their existence, their humanity.

I looked around the room with a slight smile. And it was somewhat hilarious and sad to see that we were struggling to make eye contact. Even in this room, at a gym, where socio-economically and in age we were not that different, where we were all able-bodied yoga practitioners. Many people in the room tried, but could not quite naturally fulfill Lila's request; and some didn't seem to try at all.

And I remember telling my friends from out of town, to not look at other people, especially on the subway. And I remember one of them telling me how, this city is so lonely, people don't even look at you.

It's a week or two shy of a year that I moved all my boxes into my studio apartment. I remember being excited, thinking this is where things happen, where all the things to do are, and the food(!). And there will be interesting and creative people. And there might be endless possibilities. After a year, I've been to the interesting events and tasted delicious food. But somehow I haven't really found the connection to people. My old friends who live in the area I see every once in awhile, but not at the frequency I'd like.  When we do see each other, I struggle to remember, what has happened in the past weeks or months, it's been so long, I need to update them. I wonder if it is a function of just being older, but then it seems the city wraps us in a cocoon of busyness and self-centeredness, and we cannot make time.  And then every day I see strangers, a bit worn, a bit cynical, who won't look me in the eye. I see a city with a high density of individuals, but a low level of connection.

And looking around the room at that yoga studio, I remembered why I'm not convinced that New York is my city yet. Can I really call a city where we won't even look at each other my home?