I stare up at buildings.

I occasionally wonder if that’s the only reason I travel to the city. To feel small, minuscule, insignificant. I’ve spent my life in the suburbs, and I’ve learned how easy it is to forget that the world doesn’t revolve around you when the buildings are only two or three stories tall, everyone has the same lawn, and the same plastic Christmas decorations spread like a disease come December.

Here, so many people. All of them different, all of them unique. Some might not speak my language. Some are absorbed in their studies. Some may find their only home is on the side of a street with a tin can that will never hold enough spare change.

I can’t always go to the city when I feel myself drifting into self-absorption. Sometimes I have to lay on the floor of my kitchen, next to my cat. I’ll pretend I’m just the same as he is, in a world where the chairs I sit on everyday feel like mountains.

Sometimes I just have to remember that the world is much larger than I’ll ever realize.