A week ago, I took the train into Grand Central Terminal. I’ve done it many times before but this was the first time I did it alone and I was a bit nervous, well terrified really. Not much was different from the other times I’d arrived at the station in the past. I walked up the stairs past the dingy basement that withheld the tracks and ascended into the terminal. It stood like a shrine that brought together the history and life of New York City’s past and present creating a timeless existence encased entirely in large bricks of white marble. I stood in awe for a moment as I always did upon arrival, but this time I stood this way mainly because I was unsure of where to go next. All I knew was that somehow I had to find the subway. Somehow. As I pondered, I looked up at the ceiling eternally painted midnight blue and adorned with stars and constellations. They looked down at me as if they were the answer to all my navigational questions; the star map that would lead me to the subway and all subsequent stops on my journey.