It doesnít get anymore Ďrealí than this: Riding the crowded L train into the city during morning rush hour to rejoin the working world. I forgot what if felt like to pressed up against all these strangers, how the smell of sweat invades my nose and the whizzing sound of the train on the tracks vibrates in my ears. Iíve been back for a little over a week and my empty bank account has already forced me to pound the pavement. So I took on a freelance-editing gig for the next couple of weeks.
Sitting in front of a computer in a sterile cubicle for eight hours straight takes a little getting used to, to say the least. I feel like the previous months of sleeping in a hut in Kenya without electricity and meditating in an ashram in India was nothing but a dream. Well, my reality check is crashing down all around me.