We just got in the city and this place is amazing. I just walked outside a moment to get a pillow for tonight and I was struck by some incredible feelings.
This place is incredibly quiet. For the sheer mass of people and compacted buildings, this city is absolutely silent. It's eerie. Cars barely pass by and there's no obnoxious rattle of busses or trains. There's no constant commotion. We're six blocks from Tufts University, a three minute walk from Davis Square and the Red Line and there's not a sound to be heard.
It also hit me while walking down a winding footpath how old this city really is. Houses and buildings and restaurants are crammed one on top of another through labyrinthine roads that have no apparent beginning nor end.
And then finally I realized why it was so silent. It's because it's so old. And then it hit me that this is the loudest city I have ever been in. 400 years of history is shouting out of every wall, from every street lamp and street. I walk side by side with some of the greatest American minds. I see passing coaches lot with lanterns, Puritans trying to survive a cold winter, men in their finest rushing to the old meeting house, and others carrying rifles to wars off an encroaching army. Every silent moment of this city is filled with a memory. It occurs to me that that feeling is what draws me to this city. Why I knew the moment I considered it that this city would be my home. I've never felt so nostalgic for times gone by, nor at home in a city moving in both directions: continually forward and back in time. The rustic vibe of this town becomes electrified by sundown, but that old world charm never goes away. In fact, maybe tomorrow I’ll go take a walk with Benjamin Franklin and John Adams: I hear something is brewing across the pond.
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