I came across this quote by Haruki Murakami in his recent set of essays about being a novelist: "Asking 'what am I seeking' invariably leads you to ponder heavy issues. The heavier that discussion gets, the farther freedom retreats, and the slower your footwork becomes. The slower your footwork, the less lively your prose. When that happens, your writing won't charm anyone—possibly even you". I think this applies to more than just writing: trying to force out a "heavy" idea in general — a written reflection from a place, a reason for doing something, a concrete plan for the distant future — ties your ropes to something solid, immovable, heavy. Something deep, concrete, and important. Something serious. Whenever I write, I suffer from a similar challenge of trying & trying & trying to tie together some grand narrative that is simultaneously reflective & eloquent & insightful based on some life experiences. What I experience is meaningful to me, but I'm not sure it's always meaningful for some novel reason. So while I was walking around New York for that one rainy weekend, my brain kept cycling through possible whys & hows & reflective values to write about, feeling the weight of a self-imposed obligation to always consider and think deeply about every possible experience. I even planned to just sit in the airport and journal, hoping ink and paper would remind my brain that thoughts and reflections were meant to flow smoothly like the visual stimulus in front of me, instead of the clogged, dry mess in my head. But so much of my life just isn't deep, concrete, heavy, or serious — and it's hard to make it seem like that in writing! "Solid" is the worst adjective to describe the current purgatory of (general) unemployment, backpacking, flying around seeing friends that I find myself in. My time in New York with my two dear friends was a lot of wandering around food places, rushing through the Met with relative lack of apology for our relative ignorance, and learning the true fluctuation of the value of $15. It was cold, rainy, and hilarious. It was incredibly unserious. I had a blast. And so, I'm not sure if a lack of seriousness — something heavy — is negative. It's generally not glamorous: take, as evidence, our [[(very serious) sleeping arrangements]]. A lot of us — although assuming "us" to be a large group of people is complete conjecture on my part, so maybe this is just something I have experienced — want to be taken seriously and to feel important in comparison to other people. Often that correlates with material glamour: five star hotel clerks will take their guests more seriously, first class on flights marks your relative importance — and they all come with a lot more comfort than, for instance, our (again, Very Serious™️) [[very serious sleeping arrangements]]. New York, more than any other city, feels like the city you're meant to be serious in. Most big cities feature the importance of social climbing, a high level of service, expensive named restaurants, serendipitous connections that change your life, etc. All I'm saying is that the ability to choose to be unserious and the freedom that comes with being unserious is in some ways, more a marker of youth — where both financial incapacity and physical capacity (i.e being able to still have terrible sleep and function) for the unserious are distinctly present — than an illegitimate way to live. I suppose that's my "serious" reflection. Which in fact, I did not do via journalling at the airport. Instead, I watched a young gentleman next to me play an old Nintendo game on an emulated MacBook.