It’s so easy to take for granted the simple sound of a ringing phone. Your whole life it’s there as a recognizable sound, something you run towards before the machine picks up, the way you keep checking your cell for vibrating pulses in your back pocket because you could have sworn you heard it, felt it, sensed it.
There are moments when you long for it, stretches of time when you’re just waiting for someone to call, hoping for someone to be thinking about you at the exact same moment you’re thinking about them, knowing you’re both so far apart and yet needing to reach out to each other across miles.
However I think that when it becomes a year, a whole year of you being afraid of the sound of a ringing phone, having long since forgotten what its shrilling rings used to represent before - hope, excitement, your future (and future dinner plans) - I suppose you can’t help but wonder sometimes if that feeling will ever entirely go away. Or will you always be thinking in the back of your mind that the phone could ring any minute and once again your life will be turned upside down?
That’s the chance you take every time you make that conscious decision to venture out into the unknown. Each ringing phone and street taken, each corner turned and person met there it is, chance, looming over you like an overcast sky. And it’s so easy to take for granted the things you had before you picked up and everything fell away so quickly.
But it keeps ringing and pulsing and vibrating in bags and pockets and on kitchen walls and lives keep changing because of it, and you think - if only they could just invent a phone that could reach out across time and space and dial you back into your past, back to the way it was before you were forced to ever have to make the decision to answer at all.
January 29, 2008
January 27, 2008
Everything is up in the air.
You’ll never hear anyone on a Sunday night saying that the weekend was far too long. You can sit at a Starbucks from six to nine writing and sipping coffee (decaf) and watching the people walk by Lexington Ave and you won’t hear one person talking about how much they’re looking forward to the upcoming week.
You’ll hear them talking about how fast it disappeared, "boy how it flew," and "is it really Sunday already?" The question is everywhere and we all think we’ve never seen 48 hours pass so quickly. I don’t know what it is about time and work and the way our lives are mapped out that makes us dread most days, makes us question Monday through Friday and where does the time go? Monday through Friday and where did our lives go?
This city is so full of so many people who are all looking for something that we just can’t put our minds at ease. We are planning ahead, thinking of the future and whether or not we’re prepared - business lunch, morning meeting, promotion, our dreams, love, February rent- what do we do, we wonder, when one of the balls we’ve been juggling up in the air for so long suddenly drops? Because it’s easy for one to fall, even easier to let it get away from you, so far it seems at points, that you may never be able to pick back up again where you left off.
Or, you can just be like the older man who was sitting next to me, sipping tea and reading the Times over the tops of his glasses, his sweater smelling faintly of moth balls and cigars, who told me he reads all of his Sunday newspapers a week late, because it makes him feel like he’s doing his part in keeping time from moving too fast, making what small attempt he can at not letting Monday through Friday catch up with him too quickly.
You’ll hear them talking about how fast it disappeared, "boy how it flew," and "is it really Sunday already?" The question is everywhere and we all think we’ve never seen 48 hours pass so quickly. I don’t know what it is about time and work and the way our lives are mapped out that makes us dread most days, makes us question Monday through Friday and where does the time go? Monday through Friday and where did our lives go?
This city is so full of so many people who are all looking for something that we just can’t put our minds at ease. We are planning ahead, thinking of the future and whether or not we’re prepared - business lunch, morning meeting, promotion, our dreams, love, February rent- what do we do, we wonder, when one of the balls we’ve been juggling up in the air for so long suddenly drops? Because it’s easy for one to fall, even easier to let it get away from you, so far it seems at points, that you may never be able to pick back up again where you left off.
Or, you can just be like the older man who was sitting next to me, sipping tea and reading the Times over the tops of his glasses, his sweater smelling faintly of moth balls and cigars, who told me he reads all of his Sunday newspapers a week late, because it makes him feel like he’s doing his part in keeping time from moving too fast, making what small attempt he can at not letting Monday through Friday catch up with him too quickly.
January 21, 2008
New York People
When it’s as cold in New York as it was today, no one wants to be out on to the streets. They stay inside where it’s warm in their little (or big) apartments and take comfort in the fact that at least for a day, they don’t have to venture out into the big world outside their windows.
Because I pass so many people all the time on the street that I think I’ve seen before. But what it is, I think, is that we all have the same feelings about the city so are all, in a way, the same. We are all dreading going home and waking up tomorrow and going to work. And we’re all tired and worrying about money and our relationships that just can’t seem to work out. We’re on the subway together speeding towards our jobs trying not to stare at the person crammed in front of us whose arm is reaching past our nose to grab hold of the bar, (smells like...cigars and...comme de garçons?) and when they catch our eye we look away quickly and pretend to read the If You See Something, Say Something, warning posted by the door that says: caution, do no lean while car is in motion.
And you want to say: I see it all! You see the half-asleep eyes (and fading dreams behind them), and the lost chances at love, and the regrets (oh, the regrets) all around you, packed in tightly, so close but all strangers, each having the same feelings about the city in a silent communication.
When it’s as cold in New York as it was today, when you can see your breath in such large puffy clouds in front of you with each step, the more you’re reminded of just how alive you are. There it is - each white puff of your life spreading out into the air around you being consumed again by other New Yorkers. So in the end that’s why we all know why we’re inside our little (or big) apartments and pretending not to stare at all the windows across the way, filled with television-lit living rooms and motion-filled kitchens - because we all know what’s out there and how it feels and when we get the chance to stay at home where it’s warm and safe from worry and all that we think and long for, we do - and we all know why, without ever having to say a word.
Because I pass so many people all the time on the street that I think I’ve seen before. But what it is, I think, is that we all have the same feelings about the city so are all, in a way, the same. We are all dreading going home and waking up tomorrow and going to work. And we’re all tired and worrying about money and our relationships that just can’t seem to work out. We’re on the subway together speeding towards our jobs trying not to stare at the person crammed in front of us whose arm is reaching past our nose to grab hold of the bar, (smells like...cigars and...comme de garçons?) and when they catch our eye we look away quickly and pretend to read the If You See Something, Say Something, warning posted by the door that says: caution, do no lean while car is in motion.
And you want to say: I see it all! You see the half-asleep eyes (and fading dreams behind them), and the lost chances at love, and the regrets (oh, the regrets) all around you, packed in tightly, so close but all strangers, each having the same feelings about the city in a silent communication.
When it’s as cold in New York as it was today, when you can see your breath in such large puffy clouds in front of you with each step, the more you’re reminded of just how alive you are. There it is - each white puff of your life spreading out into the air around you being consumed again by other New Yorkers. So in the end that’s why we all know why we’re inside our little (or big) apartments and pretending not to stare at all the windows across the way, filled with television-lit living rooms and motion-filled kitchens - because we all know what’s out there and how it feels and when we get the chance to stay at home where it’s warm and safe from worry and all that we think and long for, we do - and we all know why, without ever having to say a word.
January 15, 2008
Where are you going?
It’s the calm before the storm here in New York these days. It’s what you can’t help but see when you walk the streets and see the lost discarded Christmas trees all lining the sidewalks, the bright hopeful glow of their lights gone, leaving them naked and exposed and without a home. From the Village to the Upper East Side - their time has come.
I finally took mine down tonight, a project I’ve been meaning to tackle, but like all things you don’t want to deal with, I put it off until what felt like the last possible minute. So I struggled alone, hefting it out of the apartment and out on to the street to join its outcast friends, leaving nothing behind but a trail of dry browning branches on the floor.
Now there’s nothing left to do but settle in for this next leg of winter that is about to befall Manhattan. The Chill is here and we don’t want to leave our apartments in the morning or venture outside to return to them at night.
What I want to know, is what The Chill means to the man who sleeps in front of the church on 72nd and 2nd, who every time I walk by asks me, "Where you goin’ fine eyes? You goin’ somewhere good?" And every time I pass him I smile and resist the urge to tell him that I’m not really sure where I’m going, or if it’s going to be any good - but I figure that at least that I’m going home, whatever that means, and how we all forget (oh, how easy it is to forget) that as bad as things can become, (and boy can they get bad), we’re not as lost as a discarded tree out on the sidewalk, all alone in the cold.
I finally took mine down tonight, a project I’ve been meaning to tackle, but like all things you don’t want to deal with, I put it off until what felt like the last possible minute. So I struggled alone, hefting it out of the apartment and out on to the street to join its outcast friends, leaving nothing behind but a trail of dry browning branches on the floor.
Now there’s nothing left to do but settle in for this next leg of winter that is about to befall Manhattan. The Chill is here and we don’t want to leave our apartments in the morning or venture outside to return to them at night.
What I want to know, is what The Chill means to the man who sleeps in front of the church on 72nd and 2nd, who every time I walk by asks me, "Where you goin’ fine eyes? You goin’ somewhere good?" And every time I pass him I smile and resist the urge to tell him that I’m not really sure where I’m going, or if it’s going to be any good - but I figure that at least that I’m going home, whatever that means, and how we all forget (oh, how easy it is to forget) that as bad as things can become, (and boy can they get bad), we’re not as lost as a discarded tree out on the sidewalk, all alone in the cold.
January 7, 2008
Sometimes it seems like certain things can’t help but disappear.
You can do what I do, always backing things up on your computer for a false sense of technological security. Having two, even three copies of the things I’d lost before on disks and key drives and emailed to every account I’ve ever had.
You can be like I am, and just become so afraid that everything you have, (my whole life’s thoughts and ideas, all written and saved into thousands of Word files), will just disappear into thin air...as though if the words weren’t right there on the screen looking back at you to prove it, then the feelings themselves didn’t exist at all.
But now I’m tired and thinking of giving up on backing things up altogether. Because I don’t see the point in making sure you always have so much security when you’ll eventually one day just have no warning when the blue screen of death decides to strike anyway - with is cryptic language and menacing neon glare, and suddenly, all of a sudden, everything is lost before you even had a chance to try to save it.
It’s like a last look in an airport or on a street corner or when a subway pulls away from the station and you know it’s a passing moment you just can’t save no matter how much you want to. It is destined to forever be lost, and no amount of saving (or saving as) can change that —(ruined hard drive, email obliterating virus and corrupted mainframe...poof! ). So then what’s the point in the end in going back and going back to all of the lost last looks of a life gone by, when in the end you are powerless to their eventual disappearances, as they sneak out the backdoor, seducing the hangman on the way out.
You can be like I am, and just become so afraid that everything you have, (my whole life’s thoughts and ideas, all written and saved into thousands of Word files), will just disappear into thin air...as though if the words weren’t right there on the screen looking back at you to prove it, then the feelings themselves didn’t exist at all.
But now I’m tired and thinking of giving up on backing things up altogether. Because I don’t see the point in making sure you always have so much security when you’ll eventually one day just have no warning when the blue screen of death decides to strike anyway - with is cryptic language and menacing neon glare, and suddenly, all of a sudden, everything is lost before you even had a chance to try to save it.
It’s like a last look in an airport or on a street corner or when a subway pulls away from the station and you know it’s a passing moment you just can’t save no matter how much you want to. It is destined to forever be lost, and no amount of saving (or saving as) can change that —(ruined hard drive, email obliterating virus and corrupted mainframe...poof! ). So then what’s the point in the end in going back and going back to all of the lost last looks of a life gone by, when in the end you are powerless to their eventual disappearances, as they sneak out the backdoor, seducing the hangman on the way out.
January 3, 2008
new years revolutions.
The gyms are packed and the speed-dating courses at the 92nd Street Y are full.
Stores in Soho are empty as newly financially responsible shoppers are keeping their wallets at bay.
Bad foods and alcohol and cigarettes are being thrown away all over this great city.
But The Chill is here (hands digging deep in pockets and faces stinging) at 12 degrees (and dropping fast) can we really all be expected to give up our vices and resolve to be better people, people we’re not?
Soon the gyms will be empty and hearts and hopes will be dashed.
Spring clothes will appear in windows and new credit cards will have no choice but to be opened.
Burgers and beer and Basics will start appearing on kitchen counters.
And The Chill will be gone, and we’ll go back to being the people we’re meant to be.
Stores in Soho are empty as newly financially responsible shoppers are keeping their wallets at bay.
Bad foods and alcohol and cigarettes are being thrown away all over this great city.
But The Chill is here (hands digging deep in pockets and faces stinging) at 12 degrees (and dropping fast) can we really all be expected to give up our vices and resolve to be better people, people we’re not?
Soon the gyms will be empty and hearts and hopes will be dashed.
Spring clothes will appear in windows and new credit cards will have no choice but to be opened.
Burgers and beer and Basics will start appearing on kitchen counters.
And The Chill will be gone, and we’ll go back to being the people we’re meant to be.
January 1, 2008
Do you take the non-believers?
It had been cold and raining all morning and walking down Lexington the rain fell on my shoulders and over the tops of my shoes and washed away all of the things from the year past that I couldn’t change. It all, (most of it), fell away and was soaked up by the sidewalks and pavement of the city with everyone else’s dashed hopes and dreams never realized, taking root under its tall buildings, its people-filled streets, tucked away and kept there safely until one day, (soon, we hope) they can come true.
You just have to believe, I guess, that if you keep going about the daily chores of your life with your dreams underfoot, (and if you’re in exact right place at the exact right time), it can all (most of it) work out eventually.
But I wonder if we all lost the maps of our lives if we’d still find our way to the place we’re supposed to be. If suddenly all of the streets started to run North to South and the avenues East to West, would we still know in our hearts our true bearings? Would we still be able to find our way home? Or perhaps you just have to believe that fate and life will inevitably take you to the place you’re supposed to end up - no matter how much the topography happens to shift.
The grid pattern of this city is straightforward enough for anyone to follow, but there are still times that you can’t help but get lost (where exactly is Little West 10th?). Busses and subways and taxis are all always moving us from one place to another - but time and change and obligations can stand in the way of an express-stop to experiencing all of the possibilities of where life could take you.
But this city takes the non-believers, which is a good thing because I’m one of them. I’m a non-believer who will never know every corner of this city and will never know what’s supposed to be. Supposed. Supposed. Supposed. I just keep taking busses and subways and taxis and wait to see if after the rain storm the sun comes out. And after I walked through Central Park, through the throngs of photo-taking tourists, determined resolution joggers, and the thick smell of cart-sold chestnuts, I saw it as it reflected warm orange light off the windows of the high-rise apartment buildings along 5th avenue - exactly where it should be, making it easy for me to find my way back.
You just have to believe, I guess, that if you keep going about the daily chores of your life with your dreams underfoot, (and if you’re in exact right place at the exact right time), it can all (most of it) work out eventually.
But I wonder if we all lost the maps of our lives if we’d still find our way to the place we’re supposed to be. If suddenly all of the streets started to run North to South and the avenues East to West, would we still know in our hearts our true bearings? Would we still be able to find our way home? Or perhaps you just have to believe that fate and life will inevitably take you to the place you’re supposed to end up - no matter how much the topography happens to shift.
The grid pattern of this city is straightforward enough for anyone to follow, but there are still times that you can’t help but get lost (where exactly is Little West 10th?). Busses and subways and taxis are all always moving us from one place to another - but time and change and obligations can stand in the way of an express-stop to experiencing all of the possibilities of where life could take you.
But this city takes the non-believers, which is a good thing because I’m one of them. I’m a non-believer who will never know every corner of this city and will never know what’s supposed to be. Supposed. Supposed. Supposed. I just keep taking busses and subways and taxis and wait to see if after the rain storm the sun comes out. And after I walked through Central Park, through the throngs of photo-taking tourists, determined resolution joggers, and the thick smell of cart-sold chestnuts, I saw it as it reflected warm orange light off the windows of the high-rise apartment buildings along 5th avenue - exactly where it should be, making it easy for me to find my way back.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)