Unfinished New York, Unfinished Me

Scaffolding is a daily part of every New Yorker’s life. For most people, the scaffolding isn’t bothersome, but rather a shelter from the rain, a dry place to enjoy a cigarette. For a person with a mild case of OCD however, the planks and bars scattered among the city are quite troublesome. I search for completion, for consistency, for refinement. I constantly find myself asking, “Will they ever finish New York?”

I understand that New York City’s scaffolding is necessary for the structure they call the Big Apple to repair, improve, to grow. I know I should look at the beauty surrounding the metallic eyesores, that I should patiently await the project’s completion, and then appreciate the final product. But, like my own life, I often focus on the bad parts, living today only for a dream tomorrow. Everything will be better when I finally get the dream job, the dream boy, the dream life. Now doesn't matter and now isn’t all right because I don’t have those things, but when I do, I’ll be living the dream, I reason unreasonably.

What if, like New York, I always have scaffolding? Always have unfinished pieces of myself that prevent me from feeling complete? The thought makes me want to bulldoze down my entire life in a frenzy, makes me wish to be in a place that doesn't require repairs. Unfortunately, that is impossible; I know that the city that is my soul is old, beaten down, and broken.

When I take a step back, am I even trying to fix the parts of me that have lost vibrancy, sturdiness, and appeal? Sometimes, I think I just try to put them in the back of my mind, pretend they match the good parts of me, ignoring my heart’s leaky faucet. Maybe I just don’t know how to repair myself, or maybe I lack the scaffolding to even start.

Today, I was walking down my street, and for the first time, noticed a gorgeous building that I had never seen before, and realized that the glistening white and gold had been covered with scaffolding just a day earlier. I hadn’t known it before, but something beautiful was underneath the area that I previously had thought was hideous. Maybe there’s blocks of hidden pretty inside of me too, I thought. Maybe I just have to assemble the scaffolding and instead of trying to finish myself, maybe I should just try to start.