i hate the A train. let it be known: i HATE the A train.
(and i was in a terrible mood today).
uniquely enough the terrible mood had nothing to do with the A train. i say uniquely because usually the two are connected. {and yes, i just placed uniquely where a strangely normally lives--what can i say, i'm trying it out}).
i haven't always hated the A train.
though, to be fair, i should have seen this coming.
when i moved to new york (at the wee age of eighteen) i dated a guy who lived just off the A.
turns out i didn't really like the guy. really not after he gave me a key to his apartment (did i mention i was eighteen?). call me old-fashioned but i think the giving of the key is kind of a thing. a big thing.
i promptly broke up with him in a diner on the upper west side. i remember walking out. the weather was suddenly cooler, lovely. oh, pathetic fallacy! (yes, i just said pathetic fallacy. if you must know i adore that term and have been trying to get it onto this blogspot-lover-of-mine for ages).
and then of course there was that time on the A when at the ripe old age of nineteen the guy i was falling deeply and desperately in love with told me his girlfriend (i know) was moving in with him. or moving to new york for him. bad either way.
heartbreaking, actually.
this all was followed by a man who couldn't be bothered to get on the A train to pay me a visit. actually, that's not quite true. but that's what it felt like.
(god i hope none of the guys ever stumbles across this).
no, really, God that's a prayer i'm offering up to you right now.
the point is this: i hate the A train.
i hate that in the early mornings it more a shuffle-step-dance than train ride. i hate that it sits at 168th for far too long and crawls past 135th. i find it offensive that it calls itself express when the local gets from point a to point b in the same amount of time, all the while making far.more.frequent.stop.s. (don't believe me? try. i've converted more than my fair share of non-believers).
i've been thinking lately that, given my druthers, i might never ride the A again.
you see, for me, the long subway ride is symbol of my struggling life. taking a little too long, to get not so far.
but alas, the A is the train closest to home.
and so i remind myself that this phase of my life shall pass. and soon enough.
this struggle (to be replaced by another, i'm sure), this subway line, this apartment, in this corner of manhattan, this job, and that job, and that guy, and this frustration--it all passes.
all of it--including my bad mood or the feeling that i'm not good enough or thin enough or strong enough.
it is a seamless quilt moving flawlessly across this loom of a life. the colors and mistakes and unexpected strands provide depth, dimension, even a little...dare i say...flare.
and you know how i know? because my bad mood passed tonight.
it passed just as Sting sat down in front of me in the movie theatre. yes, that Sting. let it be known that i believe him to be one of the sexiest men alive. (all that yoga or something). though, when i told my dad he kinda scoffed and said, so what? all that means is he sat in front of you in a theatre.
but i saw it for what it was: a sign. that if i keep showing up, day after day, then given enough time, good things will come.
you see, Sting is my sign. his sighting--my little gift from the universe.
after all, wouldn't mind running into him on the A train.
oh God, please don't let this pop up in Sting's google alerts.
building this life
stopping for a thought
it would have made more sense had it snuck up on me. had it been a slow, gradual kind of thing--approaching from a distance with blinking lights and low whistles.
but alas.
i was in the middle of the restaurant, navigating between tables and people and moving trays on the busiest night of the week when it happened. i stopped. i just stopped, planted my feet and puased.
and there amidst the swarming and moving, time reached elastically around me and i thought, my god, what am i doing?
it was such a simple thought. so clear and emotionless. it was as factual as a thought can be. a fraught-less though, if you will.
and there, paused in the middle of the restaurant in my own sphere of space and time, i thought enough. enough of this.
i have set up my life in such a way as to pursue that which i love. and yet the pursuit has stalled. for fear.
fear. oh, fear.
fear and i are well acquainted. bosom buddies, you might say.
it's just... well, the thing is... fear no longer seems a strong enough deterrent.
because that which i love may not always be clear. and it may not always be easy. but it certainly isn't sashaying to tables in a short black dress hoping that the men don't look too long in the wrong direction.
and so the thought simply was.
(almost as if it had been there all along, just waiting for me to catch up.)
mid-morning revelation.
i had a phone call to make this week. a little one. not the end of the world.
but i'm not so great on the phone. so the whole idea of it terrified me.
i was standing on 57th, shaking in my boots, on hold, when i looked up at the building across the street.
it was glass. and as the sun dove into it, it reflected another building. and something about the meeting of the two--the stone and blue and brilliance of it made me think of rome.
and i took a deep breath wishing desperately i was in the eternal city.
but then i thought, life would be scary in rome too. hell, life is scary everywhere.
and there was something simultaneously exhilarating and unbelievably comforting about that realization.
life is scary everywhere. that's just part of the deal.
grocery store bundle.
i go to the grocery store. every day, in some form or another.
there's the one i go to on 72nd with cheap cheeses and great guacamole. and the one on 74th where a gal can always count on a gaggle of firemen stocking-up for the week. there's the whole foods at columbus circle. and the one at union square. each with a fresh foods bar and stonyfield ice cream. and then of course my corner store on 181 that i head to daily for canada dry sparkling water. i go to frank's market on 187th when i need to pretend i live in a small town. and the ap across the street from that has those unforgivable fluorescent lights but, bless it, a decent selection.
and so i cycle through the stores. most often choosing the one that falls along my route for the day.
but yesterday morning i set my alarm early. got up, dressed, took the c train downtown, treated myself to an israeli latte and entered the grocery store of my choosing. i wanted the full experience. and i wanted it without too many others around. i wanted to revel in all that is a grocery store. i wanted to buy the mammoth box of clementines knowing i'd have to lug it nowhere but home. and so i perused the aisles, cruised the fresh produce, sipping my latte all the while.
and then i came across the flowers. oh the flowers. i picked some up, began to walk away, then quickly returned and replaced them. flowers are an indulgence i cannot allow right now. not enough money.
and yet i couldn't seem to tear myself from the little corner of greenery. 4 dollars. that was it. that was all. the cost of the little bouquet. the cost of the coffee in my hand. why not splurge just this once? and as i stood there i was struck by a passage i had just re-read in liz gilbert's eat, pray, love. it's towards the beginning of the book when she's talking about moving into her first apartment--just after leaving her husband, breaking up with her boyfriend. and she talks about painting the walls warm colors and buying herself flowers every week--as though she was visiting herself in the hospital.
she creates a hospice of a home.
and so there i was. sunday morning. staring at the flowers. wondering why we only allow ourselves such indulgences when things get really rough.
and the thing is, what i'm learning is...if i wait now, if i put it off now, then probably i always will.
so i picked up the 6 dollar bundle, turned around, and walked away. this time, for good. and as i collected my fruits and vegetables and nuts--all with my flowers under my arm--i could feel my mind spinning and clicking, a veritable rolodex up there.
it's happened once or twice before, i hit a pocket of space and time and i can actually feel--actually hear my mind sorting thought after though at a speed so rapid i don't dare keep up. it is a restructuring of mind. a realignment of body. sudden realization after sudden realization--or at least the promise of realization. it is elucidation. the body alight with insight. it is a feeling unlike any other--a vitality unparalleled.
the flowers are on my dresser. in my sanctuary of a room. in my sun-lit apartment. in a little corner of washington heights. just along the river.
because the time for waiting has passed.
clarity
there's this thing that happens when exhaustion takes hold, and i mean really takes hold. when you're so busy that the mind can't keep up--can't wrap itself around all that needs to be done.
things streamline. the mind figures it out what it needs to in any given moment. priorities shift. life drops in.
a job is a job is a job. it pays the bills. accept that. move on.
and insecurities and unnecessary quirks fall away. because you don't have time for them, or rather you don't have the energy to keep up with things that aren't authentically you. but it took becoming this busy, this you-want-to-burrow-in-bed-all-day-following-fourteen-consecutive-hours-of-jobs-that-pay-the-bills, for you to really get it--for you to drop into yourself all the more.
and you like the clarity that comes when the mind doesn't have the energy to over-think to the point of muddle.
so you soldier on. because this is all experience.