Not for the Weary Kind
New York City makes me think of this song, although most of NYC couldn’t be further from a country music song if you tried to script it out to be so. But hear me out.
I’m standing here at the Utica Avenue stop out in BedStuy, the location of which might make many of my fellow Manhattanites cringe. It’s far. And on the way out, at several points I’ll admit, I’ve felt uncomfortable for one reason or another. Perhaps some valid and others, our instincts, which I refuse to let fail me altogether. Not smart in a city like this.
I admire people here. The choices they make and the way their experiences here differ from mine. I refuse to ever say it’s easy for anyone because I don’t believe that’s true at all. I admire everyone’s walk and that’s what I think as I stand at their subway station, making what would be their commute to my overpriced apartment, however near or far it may be, convenient or painful, back to my chosen slice. I know they’ve done the same for me. Who knows. Perhaps even more so, and for that I’m thankful.
I don’t think NYC becomes easy over time. Ever. It’s continually a struggle, a labor of love because you see something here. A reason that makes this daily madness make sense. A chance of some sort. A flicker of hope. And you press on, surrounded by other people doing the same for reasons that couldn’t be any more dissimilar.
But it’s that bond that makes it ok. That makes you stay here, and people who don’t do it may never understand. And that’s ok.
And while I do believe NYC isn’t for the weary kind, as it’ll happily drain you dry if you don’t think ahead as to how to recharge, I believe even the strong get weak. And when that happens, we recharge, resorting to methods that those outside a big city may never understand. And that’s ok. Oh yes. That’s ok. Cause we survive. Though tear-brimmed at time, we’re strong in the end in our own way.
Your heart’s on the loose
You rolled them seven’s with nothing lose
And this ain’t no place for the weary kind
You called all your shots
Shooting 8 ball at the corner truck stop
Somehow this don’t feel like home anymore
And this ain’t no place for the weary kind
And this ain’t no place to lose your mind
And this ain’t no place to fall behind
Pick up your crazy heart and give it one more try
Your body aches
Playing your guitar and sweating out the hate
The days and the nights all feel the same
Whiskey has been a thorn in your side
and it doesn’t forget
the highway that calls for your heart inside
And this ain’t no place for the weary kind
And this ain’t no place to lose your mind
And this ain’t no place to fall behind
Pick up your crazy heart and give it one more try
Your lovers won’t kiss
It’s too damn far from your fingertips
You are the man that ruined her world
Your heart’s on the loose
You rolled them seven’s with nothing lose
And this ain’t no place for the weary kind
- The Weary Kind, Theme from the movie Crazy Heart
