I’m usually not great with sensory overload. I can’t read a book and listen to music at the same time, and if I check my phone during an episode of Game of Thrones I have to rewind and watch what I missed.

It’s not that my attention span isn’t great (okay, that’s exactly what it is), it’s that I possess the common human flaw that I tend to put my energy where my interest lies.

I’m working on becoming a better listener, and in doing so I am noticing more things around me. Being in New York City and realizing just how small of a dot you are on the map makes you pay attention to what’s going on in the big bad world before you. This weekend I accepted a dance with the devil and rode a bike on the Ocean City, NJ boardwalk.

Two minutes in, I realized what an utter mistake to put myself in control of something with two wheels in the the New York City of the Jersey Shore. My coordination is something I am known for, and in my case, that’s a terrible thing. As I rode and tried to avoid hitting anything except my sister, I recognized the true city-ness of Ocean City.

The streets are numbered, they have food and shopping anywhere you look. The seagulls have taken the place of the pigeons. You will literally die from getting hit by a car or a bike if you stop paying attention for more than 3.2 seconds.

However, sometimes it is in our moments of pure sensory overload that we have the most basic realizations.

Nowhere is that different, and everyone is the same. Anyone can see stars in the city if they look through a telescope.