Morning Commute

“So, are you more of a city boy then?” my aunt asked me. At this time in my life I was finishing up college, a little unsure of what lay ahead of me. We were chatting lightly about my plans for the future. I was living in Fargo, which was, at the time, the largest city I had lived in. I loved the benefits that larger population brought: interesting infrastructure, downtown density, variety of shops, people, and architecture. After my small(ish) town upbringing, these were things that, at the time, I identified as being exciting and interesting. My Aunt is an art professor at a university in the beautiful mountain region of western Montana, my Uncle is a curator for the art museum in town. They are so talented. I’ve always felt a kinship with them as they were but the few in the family who saw the legitimacy in artistic expression. I woke up this morning, took a shower, ate my oatmeal, applied cologne, and headed out into the urban jungle of New York. After a bus ride, a subway ride, and a short walk, I had successfully traversed the island and sat down at my desk in the middle of it all, surrounded by the skyscrapers, roads, bridges, waterways, food carts, and the incomparable urban pulse of Manhattan. Reveling in the urbanity aside, I couldn’t help but think about what my life would be like if I played my game of architect in western Montana. Perhaps I would have time in my morning to enjoy coffee while looking at the mountains from my patio in the morning. Maybe I would hop on my bike, take in a breath of fresh mountain air, and head into work, where I would approach design solutions with a more refreshed mentality and vigor. That's unfair of me though. I'm familiar and comfortable with small-town midwest, and this East Coast urban environment sends me out of my comfort zone, which is healthy. Right?