Relationships in New York aren’t in any way necessary. If you ask me (and I guess you didn’t) spending all that time trying to make sure someone else is happy in this city is just a big waste of time. New York is a place where you can really only be bothered with having to look after yourself (and who can afford dates anyway?). I’m lousy at talking on the phone and I hate holding hands and don't understand the pressure to rehash all of the trivial details of my day to someone who will inevitably leave me for someone prettier, more clever and less argumentative in the long run anyway.
That being said, I'll be the first to admit that this city can be a hell of a lonely place when it wants to be, and like most New Yorkers I'm always looking for something better than what I already have - which in this case, happens to be nothing at all.
So when I was standing in the rush hour train at 8:50AM holding on for balance with one hand and propping a 250 page book against my stomach with the other, (overwhelming scents of perfume, shampoo, body odor and aftershave taking up half my concentration) a navy blue blazer arm pushed past my ear and grabbed hold of the bar by the side of my face and suddenly I started to wonder. There it was, awkwardly one inch from my cheek with seemingly no body attached, and as I stood there trying read and picture at the same time what the rest of him looked like, I caught the lingering scent of cigar smoke and coffee and for a moment (this city is full of dreamers) wondered if this could be someone great.
Of course we all know that forced moments on the subway never go anywhere (do they?) but it’s always nice to see that they exist, that there are some men who carry with them the possibility of hearing the mundane details of what I had for breakfast (this city is full of hope).
I can’t say that I’m asking for much, but is it really so much for you to find a tie that matches your shirt? Is it necessary for the first contact I have with your eyes for me to see your own glaring everywhere other than my face? Does the first time you talk to me have to be you drunk on cheap beer at a bar uttering monosyllabic things like "Sup?" Is it really too much to ask that you have read a newspaper or book recently? To call when you say you will? Is it possible for you to not have "Tommy" tattooed on your upper right arm causing me to wonder if you put it there in the off chance that at any given moment you might in fact, actually forget what your name really is?
No, I’m not asking for much. Actually at times it appears as though I’m not asking for anything at all - which is why there’s nothing like a foreign navy blue sleeve in your face at 8:50AM to jolt you out of the reality that is your life and into that always exciting realm of possibility that is nowhere greater in the world than it is on a Manhattan subway. Could this be the sleeve I’ve been waiting for?
One small glance up from my book as the doors opened at 42nd street I could see the navy blue sleeve was in fact attached to a man about twice my age, with a protruding gut, yellowing teeth, and a striped tie just didn’t work.
Damn.
August 18, 2008
August 11, 2008
I will tell you what I know to be true.
I know that life is short and that the moment I start to recognize the sad but blatantly real truth about time and how fast it passes (August already?!) the sooner I’ll start living my life the way it’s meant to be lived.
I know that there’s no real point in getting up every day and trekking to work (cross-town bus, downtown 2/3 to 14th street, 1 local to Houston...) in order to do a job to pay the rent for an apartment I can’t afford in a city that often turns its back on me, only to come home and go to the gym and sweat and struggle (all mice on our wheels) trying to become a better version of myself - but I do it anyway because that’s just who I am and there’s nothing like hope to get you out of bed in the morning.
I know that people I care about always end up leaving for one reason or another (sometimes it’s forever), and no matter how much I want to, (boy I hate change) I can’t stop them.
I know that there’s nothing like leaving New York for seven long days, traveling to six different cities in order to make me appreciate what I have right outside my doorstep on a daily basis. What a shockingly strange reminder that in other places across the country restaurants close at 10 (what?) cabs cost exponentially more to get you from one place to the next (being that everything is so far apart) and the chance to meet someone new and interesting on the way to get your morning coffee is nowhere else as palpable as it is in Manhattan.
I know that when I heard the bus driver on the M72 this afternoon on my way home from work (a job I have in order to pay for the apartment I can’t afford...) talking to a friend of his who was perched on the seat by the door about the woman in his life who he let get away ("she doesn’t know how much this is hurting me, how much this is tearing me up inside") - I realized that there’s no point in love unless you can be honest about it, and that there’s no point in life if you’re not.
I know that I don’t know half as much as I should about things in general at this stage in my life, (how is it possible that I’m still making so many mistakes?) but there’s no fun in knowing it all (who ever wanted to be a know-it-all anyway?). I’m a knows-enough-for-now, and I figure that’s good enough to at least get me through tomorrow.
I know that there’s no real point in getting up every day and trekking to work (cross-town bus, downtown 2/3 to 14th street, 1 local to Houston...) in order to do a job to pay the rent for an apartment I can’t afford in a city that often turns its back on me, only to come home and go to the gym and sweat and struggle (all mice on our wheels) trying to become a better version of myself - but I do it anyway because that’s just who I am and there’s nothing like hope to get you out of bed in the morning.
I know that people I care about always end up leaving for one reason or another (sometimes it’s forever), and no matter how much I want to, (boy I hate change) I can’t stop them.
I know that there’s nothing like leaving New York for seven long days, traveling to six different cities in order to make me appreciate what I have right outside my doorstep on a daily basis. What a shockingly strange reminder that in other places across the country restaurants close at 10 (what?) cabs cost exponentially more to get you from one place to the next (being that everything is so far apart) and the chance to meet someone new and interesting on the way to get your morning coffee is nowhere else as palpable as it is in Manhattan.
I know that when I heard the bus driver on the M72 this afternoon on my way home from work (a job I have in order to pay for the apartment I can’t afford...) talking to a friend of his who was perched on the seat by the door about the woman in his life who he let get away ("she doesn’t know how much this is hurting me, how much this is tearing me up inside") - I realized that there’s no point in love unless you can be honest about it, and that there’s no point in life if you’re not.
I know that I don’t know half as much as I should about things in general at this stage in my life, (how is it possible that I’m still making so many mistakes?) but there’s no fun in knowing it all (who ever wanted to be a know-it-all anyway?). I’m a knows-enough-for-now, and I figure that’s good enough to at least get me through tomorrow.
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