Where Two Worlds Collide

I've spent the majority of my time over the past week and a half in the heart of downtown Denver covering reception at an environmental engineering company, and I've gained a much more educated perspective on the concept of the metropolis.

I love it.


Adele sings this song "Hometown Glory," and at one point sings, "I love it in the city where two worlds collide." Exactly. I have my own suburban, relatively sheltered world colliding with the hustle-bustle-make-it-or-break-it-I'd-like-a-grande-latte-please world of downtown Denver. And while they collide, they don't crash; my own world takes on a different meaning, and for the moment, I'm swallowed into the life of the city, a life made up of the lives of thousands--if not millions--of disconnected people who all lead their lives within their own worlds that collide with the city's.

I love the sleepy sun that can't break over the skyscrapers at 7:15 in the morning as I get off the bus at 17th and Welton.

I love pushing my way through the revolving door and swiping my pass to use the elevator before 7:30.


I love the rush up the elevator as I speed to the eleventh floor.


I love sitting in the open plaza at the metal table reading The Bell Jar during my breaks.


I love strolling down to the 16th Street Mall to grab a Jamba Juice, listening to the music coming from the shops fight with the sounds of the light rail.

I love walking past the the Brown Palace and smelling the petunias.


And yet, still, when I leave at 4:30 and catch the bus, I can't wait to be driven back to my nook of the world where everything makes a little more sense, where I don't have pretend that I know what I'm doing when really I don't, where affectation isn't necessary, where I know I belong.

Thanks, dear readers, for indulging my reflections on being urban.