Tours

I’m not much for guided tours, though
obviously some people are.

They’re taken through the city
on tops of busses or in horse-drawn carriages.
And through the MET from the Impressionist Wing (now closed for renovations)
to the American Wing with head sets and
forward moving gestures giving them reassurance that
"This way please, folks, " will get them to where they want to go.

I figure I learn more just going out on my own -
and hoping for the best.

And don’t you usually, though?
Just think about all those hours in the classroom
or minutes in front of that overhead projector...

Don’t you learn the most when you get home
and get your head straight
and some peace and quiet
and
a chance to look at everything
the way you
want to look at it?

I figure I’ve learned the most important things
(and sometimes the hard way) of my life
just out there on my own.

Because maybe when it comes to learning
the most important lessons in life -
no guide in the world would, could, or can ever be great enough,
to get you through.

And your heart's still beating

When you lose something you can’t get back, it’s easy to feel like you’re lost yourself. And I don’t mean just misplacing things, I mean really losing them. You can re-trace your steps all you want, count through your entire day from the moment you pulled back the covers hating through every movement how much you have to face another day, suppressing the urge to throw that beep beep beeping alarm clock against the wall.

I’m not talking about misplacing. We can misplace all we want because with misplacing there’s a very distinct chance that whatever we’ve lost, we will inevitably get back. And that’s all we need isn’t it? That logical answer of: well it couldn’t have just disappeared into thin air?! Your keys, a book, your ipod, subway pass, glasses, cell phone, that coupon or letter or picture. I just had it, you think to yourself. I just had it.

When something is misplaced for too long you can tend to lose It. You start to open doors and drawers you haven’t opened in years. Suddenly you’re Uncle Billy in It’s A Wonderful Life when Mr. Potter takes George Bailey’s $5000 for the Building and Loan. Crazy Uncle Billy. But that’s just the thing. In the end there always is that logical answer when it comes to misplacing.. There is a Mr. Potter or a sneaky magazine just barely covering what you’ve been digging for. There are my keys! (d’oh!) Right there on the counter!

But there are some things in life that you can’t get back. They are missed, not just mis-placed. And your logical will struggle with your non-logical and most of the time you don’t even feel like you’re functioning on the same plane as everyone else. Because when you lose certain things for good, like a person or a love or a chance of a lifetime, you find yourself not only not believing that it’s a wonderful life - you find yourself not believing in much of anything at all. Because when you lose certain things for good, sometimes you can’t help but lose yourself.

I just had it. Just, just, just. You can just have a lot of things before they slip through your fingers. Just-had-it becomes never-will-again. So what do you do then? You keep a closer eye out (watch, wallet, keys, check! check! check!), file things away, classify and organize and try to take part - all while reminding yourself that your heart's still beating, and justs are just justs, and there’s nothing you can do about it, and you will find what you’re looking for eventually.

I-knew-it-all-along

I always leave New York thinking things will make more sense somewhere else. Away from the hustle of the packed streets, the people and the noise, somehow everything in my life that doesn’t make sense (and right now that seems like most everything) will become more clear,(surely it’s all this smog that’s been making things so hazy?).

Going to a different city is like booking a ticket to your own hindsight. The ability to take yourself out of your daily life gives you the ability to look at your life once removed. In a foreign place surrounded by unknown people you can look at yourself in a different light (and a different time zone). And while looking back is dangerous (oh, the mistakes I’ve made), it (like bleach) helps to clarify things.

Looking down on the patchwork quilt of the Midwest you can begin to wonder about those stretching miles of grass and trees with long and winding roads and find the answers to some of the questions you’ve been asking yourself back in the city (out out damn spot). Life isn’t just street corners and traffic jams and high-rise apartments. There is a world of open space and fresh air and quiet and reasonably priced real estate that’s easy to forget exists after too much time in Gotham.

But you can learn just as much about things flying back to a place as flying away from it. No matter where you travel to, hindsight (like life) stays the same, and some stains can never be removed. But you can at least take comfort in the perspective that comes at 30,00 feet, and recognize when the topography gets less flat and is suddenly full with lights, that it sure is good to be home.

Everything...leaves.

I think it’s strange how I’m always surprised at the end of every season how quickly it leaves. It’s like a trick that time plays on me, a magician in charge of their passing, and in one quick movement of a handkerchief - they’re gone. Poof.

Walking through Central Park tonight (as it’s getting darker earlier) I think I saw summer leave. There were the same people about, running or walking, seeing the sights in horse-drawn carriages taking in, perhaps, their last night in Manhattan, ready to fly off tomorrow morning back to where they came from, back to...home.

Walking down 5th avenue alongside the park, I could see in the distance the rows of lining trees, from 86th to 58th, their leaves spreading thin - burnt orange and tan, dry falling fall leaves already collecting on the ground. Summer left, you see, and I hardly noticed. Another summer, another year. I could see the city then at the height of summer, all bright and green, full of warm breezes and sweltering sun.

We never notice, do we? what’s there when it’s there. Like the seasons, these things we take for granted that slowly incorporate themselves into our lives that soon we come to depend on them (our sunny Saturdays and sweet Sundays) - leave fast.

Because like all good things you can’t always see (these too shall pass), one afternoon when the sun is setting far sooner than it should, you’ll find yourself walking through Central Park and see that The Chill has set in yet again -as quickly as light now turns to night, before you even had a chance to say goodbye.

What is it about fall that makes me want to buy #2 pencils?

Maybe it’s because then, when people still felt #2 pencils were of the utmost importance (caution: please use only a #2 pencil for this exam!), life was simpler.

Filling out bubble sheets was easier than filling out time sheets.

But so much then (with important #2 pencils), I couldn’t wait for now. Oh how silly and stupid I was, wanting to rush rush rush through the ridiculous (remarkable) routine of childhood. From the future (now) I would go back and talk to my little self and say (along with re-thinking those penny loafers) "Slow down, please. Because where you are now is better than where you’re going."

Now, it’s 9-5 or 9-… and time is short and life is up, work, sleep, repeat.

Then, time was infinite, awake, bed time? and I read Where the Red Fern Grows maybe a hundred times.

If I could, from the future, go back and talk to little me, I would tell myself a few things:

Slow down, read Where the Red Fern Grows 101 times, appreciate grass stains and no deadlines and not having to count calories. Stand up to/then stay away from Alex Webber, who always tormented everyone (me) during recess, and most importantly, never ever be caught without a #2 pencil.