Sunday Mornings

There’s something sacred about Sunday mornings. For the most part, I try to be up for sunrise, put on a pot of coffee, lace up my running shoes and reap in the silence of the city. It’s actually my secret weapon to surviving New York. Catching that first bit of calm and solitude while everyone’s asleep. There’s no rush, no to-do lists or responsibility tugging at your needs.

It’s just me, New York, and a slow Sunday morning that ends with brunch. Always brunch.