When you think of cities, you think of movement. Energy. Electricity. The screech of wheels on pavement, smoke spiraling into the air, people rushing.
I live in New York City, perhaps the busiest and brightest of them all. It’s called the city that never sleeps for a reason, and, while living there, it is all too easy to get swept up into a bleary-eyed endless cycle of caffeine and late nights. New York makes you want to sprint to catch the subway even though another is coming three minutes later and you’re already running early. Maybe that constant need to rush is why NYC is such a hotbed for success and innovation - and that also might be why its inhabitants are often characterized as irritable, chronically obnoxious, and in possession of a general hatred for all things.
I’m not here to tell you born and bred city folk to stop racing, to stop working, to stop reaching out and grabbing your dreams by the throats. If you have that drive, if you are motivated by movement and energy, then by all means embrace it. But for most people, finding a balance between chaos and peace is necessary for survival. Is it possible to find stillness while still living a fast-paced city lifestyle? Maybe not completely, but we can try.
The easiest, perhaps most important first step to finding stillness is meditation, which can provide an incredibly necessary respite from the hustle and bustle. Meditation is not only about clearing your mind, though this certainly is an end goal. For me, this feat has proved unattainable thus far. Meditation is not easy for me. In my first endeavors with meditation, I would sit with my legs crossed, my pointers fingers touching my thumbs, and I would think, okay, thoughts, time to leave. Of course, the darkest, most creeping thoughts would inevitably rush in. All my worries would flock to the forefront of my brain, hurtling towards me like a cloud of locusts. What are you doing here? I would say to them. I haven’t thought of you since the sixth grade. I would try to push them out, and this would only give them strength, leaving me more unsettled than before.
I have tried meditating while visualizing beautiful places, utilizing the five senses, walking, and on one somewhat bizarre but simultaneously wonderful occasion, while interpretively dancing. I left all of these stiller and more centered, but I was never able to entirely clear my mind. I could barely go a moment without my thoughts jet-setting to years in the past and future, and I seemed to always be moving further away from the present moment. Thoughts of other things rushed in faster than the calm ocean waves I was trying so hard to envision.
The same thing, perhaps, has happened to you when you try to meditate, or when you attempt to find peace in the middle of the hustle of city life. Recently, I have begun to understand that finding peace and stillness is not about getting rid of negative thoughts, or about finding a perfect, utterly peaceful location, or about changing the self. Instead, it is about accepting all of the noise and the darkness - even loving all of it, with all its accompanying flaws and distractions and anxieties - and allowing it to exist, which allows simultaneously for the discovery of a realm of stillness and peace.
I envision the sides of my mind as two parallel planes. Perhaps this vision will morph as I continue to practice meditation, but for now, this helps me realize the necessary coexistence of parts of myself. There is the part of me full of worries, fears, sorrows - the entire gamut of the emotional spectrum, every pinch of insecurity and splattering of narcissism. And then there is another part of me, another plane of consciousness, that is wholly still, that loves the world and every atom of life upon it, and is able to find peace. Neither is better than the other. Neither needs to be sent away.
I have begun to utilize this vision while I travel around the city. I believe that peace can be found absolutely anywhere - on the streets, in cafes, even in a subway car. The subway is one of my favorite places for quiet contemplation and meditation. If you really look around and notice people, you will see that each face carries an extraordinary story. Still, almost everyone is silent, lost in the rush of their own thoughts. Stopping and listening to the rhythm of the car as it hurtles along is an instantly grounding observation.
In addition to the transit system, NYC harbors more peaceful oases than one would think. I once visited Central Park and walked through the forest, and the sounds of the city disappeared entirely. There are many public parks, such as Riverside Park, Morningside Park, and Battery Park, and each time I go walking somewhere I reach another destination marked by beauty and quiet. Countless expanses of green dot the streets of grey and silver. Just being with trees and water instantly has a calming effect on me. And if I desperately need the ocean, Coney Island is only a subway ride away.
The city can be paradise for quiet-seekers; you just need to open your eyes and look around. The High Line in Chelsea, the Dream House in Tribeca, the Brooklyn Bridge, the Botanical Gardens, the Cloisters, and countless other destinations await those looking for a change of scene. There are always libraries and coffee shops, temples and churches, and free meditation and yoga centers to check out. It is important to remind yourself that you are worthy of allowing yourself to change your surroundings, to take initiative, and to seek out a place of calm.
More often than not, as a full-time student and doer of many other things, I am too busy to leave my campus. In the future I hope to change this and create more space, but for now, I still do my best to find peace in the spare moments I do have.
If getting away is not an option, there are still ways to create tiny vacations in your own head. The first step might just be opening your eyes.
When I am at my happiest, I notice that I tend to look up more. I look away from my shoes and the pavement, and I see the tops of windows, and the trees quivering above my head. I see the Hudson River sparkling in the distance, and I think, how incredible, to be able to live and study and experience this city. How fortunate to step where so many brilliant spirits have walked before. What I didn’t know initially was that this was actually a powerful form of meditation. Simply noticing every inch of what is around you develops your perspective and makes you realize you are an essential part of a much deeper world than you ever imagined.
Another way to create space in small moments is to disconnect. I find that it is all too easy to let moments of potential peacefulness slip away on social media. Finding peace doesn’t mean completely detaching yourself right away, though, but starting with small steps is important. I believe that scrolling through news feeds and rows of pictures is something that is hugely damaging to the human psyche. Cutting out scrolling from your life and replacing those minutes or hours with reading or quiet contemplation erases all of the feelings of comparison that automatically stem from seeing all those filtered photos float by.
Solitude is another way to invite peace into your life. Going to museums or walking around alone allows for entirely new perspectives to blossom. My best memories of NYC have not been the days that that I found out I did well on papers or went to parties; they have been the days that I traveled to beautiful places, often alone. On the other hand, meaningful connection is equally as important. Striking up conversations that go below surface level, and sharing parts of your soul with others, is a great way to maintain a connection to who we are as human beings, and these moments constitute the other memories I will keep for the long haul.
Ultimately, though, in spite of all these things I know that my wild, crazy, never-sleeping, always-rushing thoughts will probably never disappear completely. Reaching a state of mind that still would probably require me to leave the city and to devote much more of my life to meditation and the practices that surround it. Finding complete peace, and developing the ability to live entirely in the present and to clear the mind during meditation, are immersive efforts: they involve changes to every aspect of the lifestyle. Still, I believe changes are possible to make, and I hope to take small steps towards them.
When I am at my lowest, I stare at my shoes and want nothing more than to escape. But I know that escaping would not be the answer. I know that one cannot expect to be saved by a place or a single act.
I once went to a free meditation class in midtown. It was a lovely experience, and left me with a deep feeling of peace that extended through the night. I resolved to keep going back, and to immerse myself in the art of breath and mindfulness that called to me so clearly. But the weekend that followed was one of the worst of my first semester of college. For a while, I couldn’t meditate: it brought back memories of those days. It took me months to understand that maybe a lesson could be taken from this. I couldn’t expect meditation to save me, or yoga, or anything else. The desire to be saved absolutely has to come from within.
Meditation is a practice because it takes work, and also it must be continuously repeated and refreshed. Ultimately it is about finding peace with whatever curveballs life throws. It is about striking that difficult crow pose in yoga - or dealing with whatever contorted pose life throws you into - and at the same time, stepping back, breathing, and realizing your connection to something much larger than yourself.
For now, I live a city-speed life. Living this way does not mean rejecting the possibility of stillness: it simply means that there is more chaos to deal with. When I think to the two columns I visualize in my mind, the one comprised of my worries and racing thoughts is thicker and heaver than I know it could be if I cleansed my life of certain toxicities that I am not ready to let go of quite yet.
But trying to crush the column would make the entire house fall. Rejecting the negativity, pretending that is not there or that our feelings are worthless or not worthy of consideration and voice, will only make it worse. Humans are inherently flawed creatures; whether or not you believe in original sin, we make mistakes. We are not angels. Rejecting the flawed sides of yourself will lead to a rejection of yourself entirely.
And our bodies are not meant to be houses divided, to steal a famous American phrase that continues to be all too relevant. Our entire being, the body, the mind, and the soul, work in tandem to create the improbable fact of existence (a miracle that even the most science-minded person cannot deny). In spite of all the flaws inherent in the human race, we are still here. We are motivated by some spark of life that science cannot explain. We are still present, living, able to connect and create. Our bodies pump blood and breathe and feel and love.
We are not meant to be perfect. We are meant to exist in harmony with the earth, which is constantly dying and recreating itself. Things in our lives end. We hurt, perhaps more than it is possible to explain. Winter strangles the trees and freezes the soil. But by accepting this hurt instead of trying to change it, perhaps we can then, and only then, move to the realm in which we can also accept peace, and we can see the beauty in the sparkling snow.
I envision nirvana as a solid house, without columns or a roof or floor. Instead, the columns have melded together to create walls, and the roof has become the sky. It is a blurry, abstract vision, and most likely - unless you’re the next Siddhartha Gautama - none of us will reach that point. But just knowing that we have the capacity for such beauty and understanding in us, and knowing that the world around us is built on that very fabric, is enough to keep me hoping that I will find stillness, in between the rush and chaos of it all.
A word of advice, though: New Yorkers don’t appreciate it when you stop in the middle of the sidewalk to stare up at the sunset, start dancing in the middle of a diner, or let raindrops fall on your tongue.
A revised word of advice: do it anyway.
