Bursting
When I was in Philadelphia for a friend’s wedding a couple of years ago, my time there was strictly regimented; there were rehearsals, dinners, some rudimentary sight-seeing and group activities — and, of course, the wedding itself — all contained to a tight 72-hour window before we began our journey back west.
That left only a single night for myself to do as I pleased. My hotel was in downtown Philadelphia, at the heart of the Center City district. Even with my phone in hand, I didn’t want to wander too far; best not to get lost in a behemoth of a city I’d never been in, especially with such a packed itinerary waiting for me the following morning.
But maybe I didn’t need to wander. Yes, I had never visited Philadelphia before, and whatever exploring I attempted on that night barely scratched the surface of the city; but as soon as my feet touched the sidewalk outside the hotel, I was hooked, captivated, mesmerized. No matter the lateness of the hour, no matter the suffocating humidity of the Philly summer, the city was alive. It thrummed, it rumbled, seeming almost to shake its old foundations. And it was only a Thursday.
Jaywalkers trapaized across roads as cars zipped past them. Finely-dressed folks exited theaters. A gang of street racers revved their bike engines, deafening echoes bouncing off historic buildings. All of this happened in the shadow of Philadelphia’s enormous City Hall. At almost 550 feet high, it was once, briefly, the tallest building in the world. That title has long been surrendered, but in the instant of seeing it illuminated at night, I knew it has lost nothing.
I looked up at that towering building, piercing the night sky, dwarfing the throngs of tourists and pedestrians, street racers and theater season tickets holders, and I loved it. No, more than love; this was like opening your eyes and finding yourself standing in the center of the world as it buzzed and spun around you, simultaneously ignoring you and daring you to catch up to it.
I had wanted to discover more of Philadelphia, but all I could do was look up at City Hall, majestic and imposing, completely indifferent to the world that turned below it; all I could do was take in the sounds of the traffic and the people; all I could feel was the sticky heat of a northeastern summer heatwave, as though even the atmosphere itself was above such things as hospitality and comfort.
I remember gently kneeling down and lightly touching my fingertips to the pavement I was standing on. I had to do something, anything, to feel the city, to feel its energy; to be a part of it, to feel my fingers caress it electricity. Much as I don’t travel as much as I would like to, this was more than travel; this was pilgrimage, like stepping outside your door and finding yourself at the top of Mt. Everest.
I’m sure the busy and bustling people of Philadelphia ignored me; some probably took note of the weirdo who, for some inexplicable reason, was touching a city street with his bare hands. “Tourist,” they might have muttered, eyes rolling.
But I didn’t hear them; I couldn’t. The city was too loud, and my heartbeat with it.
