Living the dream (or something like it)
I recently took a short trip to New York. Just a few days, but enough to stir up that familiar mix of awe, disorientation, and late-night reflection that only a city like this can bring. Walking its relentless streets, I kept circling back to one idea: convenience.
In a place that moves this fast, convenience isn't a luxury — it's oxygen. Everything, from coffee carts to subway payments, seems designed to shave seconds off your day. Life here flows at high speed, and anything that slows you down feels like a design flaw. You get the sense that even standing still is suspicious. It made me wonder: in a city where everything is streamlined for speed and ease, what do we lose?
I watched people — really watched them — bustling past, each one sealed in their own bubble, earbuds in, eyes locked on a destination. It struck me that meeting someone spontaneously, like really meeting them, feels almost impossible now. Unless, of course, it's via a dating app, a Reddit meetup, or a park full of Jedi apprentices dueling with toy lightsabers (true story). We’ve outsourced serendipity to convenience.
Oddly, it made me think of the RPG Kult: Divinity Lost. In it, the world is an illusion — a veil maintained by unseen powers to keep us from perceiving the true nature of reality. In that world, people live asleep, unable to see past the polished surface. I couldn’t help but feel the metaphor clicking into place. We scroll, consume, and hustle, half-aware of the world behind the curtain. Is that what we’ve become? Sleepers?
In that light, the modern city — New York especially — starts to feel a bit like The Matrix. Not in the sci-fi sense, but in that eerie feeling that we're being drained, bit by bit. Consumed by what we consume.
And yet... it was amazing. Thrilling, even. My time in New York was exciting, unsettling, overwhelming — and yes, unforgettable. I’m still unpacking the feelings it left me with, but one thing’s for sure: the dream is very much alive there. Whether it’s our own dream, though — or someone else’s — is a question I’m still asking.