Contrast

As I roamed the streets and halls of New York City's most renowned sites last week, my mind was constantly gulping, trying to swallow the massive amount of stimuli being shoved my way. I found myself grasping many truths anew from all that I saw and experienced. Lesson one: Contrast.

Two weeks ago, I was in my Wyoming home. While there, I spent many hours playing with my nieces, baking bread, and working on a mind-numbing bird puzzle. And, though my home town is not the smallest nor the quietest place, it is geographically located in a remote patch of the map. Thus, as I drove back to Colorado at the end of my stay, I was surrounded by massive stretches of lonely, albeit enticing, landscape. Antelope, sheep, and deer were far more abundant than people as I made my way down WY.

As soon as I arrived home that day, I scrambled to do laundry, reorganize and pack again for my departure to New York City early the next morning. In a whirlwind of light naps, coffee sips, newspapers, purse and bag lugging, safety instructions, seat-belt signs, and restless legs, I was whisked to the Big Apple.

It didn't take long to feel the contrast. One day I was in the boondocks. The next day I was in one of the most famous and frenzied cities in the world. You may ask me to choose which I like better. The answer would depend on when you asked. I don't much prefer ice cream first thing in the morning. Late afternoon or early evening, however, ice cream is quite appealing. So, NYC or remote WY? Just depends.

One thing is true, however. Humans are still human in NYC. Brilliant discovery, I know. The difference in style and interests between a Wyoming coal miner and a Broadway artist may be astounding, but they both need food, rest, and companionship. They both get their feelings hurt, feel vulnerable, or have moments of elation.

So it is that this huge and sudden contrast between these two locations made me wish to be an anthropologist.

I am intrigued.