Mulling It Over

Jumping off a giant snowball in Brooklyn's beautiful Prospect Park

I've been home from my Big Apple Adventure for just about two weeks now. I'm in partial disbelief that the whole thing ever happened. I was there for an entire week, experiencing the city under 19" + of fresh glorious snowfall. I had the chance to meet with wonderful printers, designers, bookmakers, business people and artists. I even got a peek at the craft dreamworld that is the Etsy headquarters in DUMBO. I traversed the city by foot, by bus, by subway. I ate cheaply. I sought out free cultural experiences. I went to the YMCA and to church. I took walks through the park. And when I wasn't bundled up and hustling through the gridlock, I was sitting in coffee shops, sipping and reading. And I was praying prayers and crunching actual numbers. I dreamed and then thought realistically.

It was a week filled with note-taking and observing. I asked probing questions of everyone I crossed. Where do you get your health insurance? What are some of the biggest annoyances of city living? Is the rent too damn high here?

For a week, I was caught up in the pace. And I loved it. I relished moments of silence on the subway, where I could sit and read, making great use of my travel time. I loved emerging from each underground tunnel to a new street corner, lively and with a distinct personality of its own. I loved finding people who share my love for paper goods, for printed matter. The city air, however chilly, however polluted, was intoxicating.

But here I am... home on Southern soil, warm in my cozy kitchen. The roads of this town are familiar and the days are busy. I've not had much time for the kind of thought that my week in the big city afforded me. I've thought enough to know that a move there would be hard. It would require sacrifice. It would mean distance from those I love. And these are real weights on a decision scale that swings back and forth with every minute.

I'm still praying for guidance, for direction, for more faith.