January 29, 2009

And your hearts 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, 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, you keep thinking. Just, just, just. You can just have a lot of things before they slip out of your fingers. Just-had-it becomes never-will-again. So 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 hearts still beating, and justs are just justs, and there’s nothing you can do about it but hope that you’ll find what you’re looking for eventually.

January 26, 2009

Change. Please.

It’s the same, isn’t it? Every week starting too early and you’re out of coffee and you’re tired getting to work and you’re tired of work and everything that goes along with it. You’re worried about your life and money and if what you’re doing is really making you happy, and if it isn’t, what in the world are you going to do about it.

It’s the same, isn’t it? Every morning, every day and it’s cold and you dig your hands deep into your pockets as you walk and turn up your collar to block your face from The Chill. You wonder if it will every get warm again, if you’ll ever start to feel things again and you worry about your life and the future and if you’ll ever find love, and if you don’t, what in the world are you going to do about it.

It’s a struggle to keep going sometimes when you know what’s coming next. And each day ends too late and you’re heading home reminding yourself as you walk (hands in pockets, collar up) to buy coffee for the next morning, and the next morning, and the morning after that - until a hand reaches out in front of your face on the corner of Houston and Broadway causing you to jump, jolting you out of the sameness of your life as the jingling sound from the half empty cup echoes in your ears, saying what you’ve been saying to yourself all day every day for as long as you can remember: “change, please.”

January 20, 2009

spare change.

I think it’s because most of the time we don’t have anyone to talk to. We are constantly surrounded by so many people that at times it almost seems strange that we don’t know a single one of them. So I understand the need to speak up, to feel like you’re not just another face in the crowd. However I’d rather you not make that decision around me, in the morning, before I’ve even had my coffee.

"Is this the train that goes to Houston?" she asked. She was middle-aged and obviously from out of town and confused. I was leaning up against the pillar at 14th street waiting for the downtown local 1 train, seriously reading my book.

"Yeah," I said, figuring that was going to be enough. Contrary to popular belief us New Yorkers are fine with helping people. If we know what you’re talking about (and for the most part we do) we’ll take a moment out of our crazier-than-ever days to help you crazier-than-ever tourists.

But let me warn you, there’s a line.

"Whew," she said breathing a deep sigh of relief. "I was worried there for a minute that I was totally lost."

When people here insist on talking more than they should I feel like I have no other alternative than to politely ignore them. I understand the need to speak up, but I also understand the need for what little solitude we’re allowed in an otherwise insanely crowded place.

So I smiled, and nodded, and looked back at my book.

"What are you reading?" she asked. Sigh. Here we go. I know it’s an awful thing to feel annoyed when someone else is just making conversation with you, but give me a break. It’s early and I’m tired and I’ve just gotten to a particularly interesting part of chapter twenty and really don’t want to be bothered with your curiosity.

"Ummm," I said, debating on not saying anything at all. "America America?"

"Oh," she said and looked away disappointed. "Never heard of it."

That’s nice. I smiled and nodded and went back to reading.

"People are real happy about America today though let me tell you," she said, and I couldn’t tell if she was talking to me or herself or anyone that would listen. "Real happy. This book about anything to do with what’s happening today?" Her voice was hopeful that this time my answer wouldn’t disappoint her.

"Not really."

"Oh," she said looking down the track waiting for the train. "That's too bad."

What is it about people and what they care about and what they think about and what they feel compelled to say? After all this time in New York surrounded by all these I can’t even begin to explain it.

"Say, you got fifty cents so I can buy a coffee?" she asked.

And I don’t think I ever will.

January 19, 2009

In Brief.

Everything that drives me crazy about this city can be summed up in four words.

Stand to the right.

January 15, 2009

chances are.

I was never good at math, leaving my ability to fully understand statistics somewhat underdeveloped throughout the years. However I have to say, that being on the only airplane to crash in the United States in the last seven years is almost a statistical impossibility.

We walk through our days not thinking much about the odds, believing perhaps too heavily in luck, always thinking: well that could never be me. We watch, like we did from our televisions today, as scared and cold passengers huddled on the wings of an airplane waiting to be rescued (birds, can you even believe it?). We sit, like I did, in our offices a block from the river and listen to the sirens that pass by and then fade away in the distance. Somebody else’s life. Somebody else’s problem.

What do you do, I wonder, when you find yourself sitting there thinking about your life (or nothing at all) and hear the captain announce that you’re going down? What goes through your mind as the plane slowly loses altitude and the thick icy blackness of the Hudson gets closer and closer outside your window? Do you pray? Do you scream? Or do you sit in silent anticipation of a fate you have no control over?

We are mere pawns, the weak and numerous infantry of the world who every day step outside thinking we’ll certainly have more days like this one. More chances. More time (what are we waiting for?). Because there are a lot of miles on the road without a front wheel blow-out, a lot of late nights alone on the street without encountering the armed mugger a block away, a lot of pianos that fall a minute after we’ve passed, or a month, it doesn’t matter.

Because there are no real tools for predicting and forecasting our lives. We don’t know about tomorrow. Or the day after that. But I figure the bright side (and there should always be a bright side) is that chances of being on a crashing plane more than once is simply out of the question. So those on board today can safely fly without fear, forever.

That is, if they’re ever willing enough to get back on a plane.

January 14, 2009

You know things are bad when...

This morning on the cross-town bus, just before realizing with utter disappointment that today was in fact Wednesday, not Thursday, the woman sitting across from me made a face, and then abruptly proceeded to throw up all over herself (come to think of it she was looking a bit pale…).

Missed my shoes by about one foot.

Yeah, that’s pretty much how I feel about today, too.

January 4, 2009

Any day anyone is no other than someone.

When it’s after two o’clock in the morning at The Corner Bistro and you’re talking to me, leaning in too close every time you tell me something because the music is too loud, tell me your name while telling me I’m beautiful, go on about how much you love New York and writers and a woman with a good sense of humor - don’t, please, for crying out loud, ask for my number at the exact same moment you tell me you live in Dublin and are flying back to Ireland tomorrow.

Because truth is, I’m not going to call you back.

New Year’s Resolution #1: Stop falling for men who don’t live in New York.