Latest plans.

I saw him jump on to the subway, making it just in time before the doors closed behind him. He must have been running late (literally) because he had on sneakers and black track pants and seemed to breathe a sigh of relief that he’d made it. He looked, as I observed him standing there, like he was in a hurry.

Dressed in flats and whatever I manage to pick out to wear each morning, deep down I always feel like I’m wearing an invisible track suit, almost subconsciously compelled to make a mad dash to what’s supposed to come next in my life - even when I’m never really quite sure what next is.

He was young with wavy blonde hair and he held an iPod in one hand and a large manilla envelope in the other that was labeled, in scratchy handwriting, "Latest Plans." As I looked at him I wondered what it would be like to be able to carry around all my best intentions in an envelope so that I wouldn’t forget them. We’re making plans all the time, so much so that we don’t even realize it. We have date books and appointment books and scheduled events and hopes for the future even when we should know better by now (shouldn’t we?) that most of the time making plans (thinking we have any real control over what’s going to happen) is absolutely absurd.

He caught me eyeing his envelope bound for some unknown destination, and he held it closer to his chest. I figured it made sense that once you’re able to contain and define the latest plans of your life you’d be smart to put on your running shoes and try to get to where you’re planning on going fast, because we all know (don’t we) that plans are nothing if not subject to change.

We few, we happy few, we band of brothers

So it has begun. It creeps up on me every year and then, bam! it hits me as I’m walking down Broadway and I see all of those wooden racks lined up along the sidewalks. They loom tall reminding me with a sudden push of panic to my stomach that time is getting away from me (wasn’t summer just here?).

I know then, that once I return to the city after eating too much turkey (for reasons I don’t really understand), those racks will be filled with green trees selling for $100 a pop. Soon families after failed attempts at negotiating down the price, will be dragging them home to put up in their cramped apartments until the needles fall off. I’ll watch as they pass me, the branches of their Fraser Fir bouncing as they cross the street, one person at the helm, one bringing up the rear.

This morning, however, everyone was hauling duffle bags and suitcases along the sidewalks as they headed for the subway, I along with them. We stood in silence as the train sped to our offices, eyes glazed over as we remembered quickly the disputes from last year over who was going to bake the pumpkin pie and who was going to bring the cranberry sauce. We tried to mentally prepare ourselves as the memory came flooding back of the incessant questions from relatives about how we can live in a place like New York. Isn’t it too expensive? How do you live? Do you have any money? How are you going to have any savings? Can you ever go on any vacations? Doesn’t it get exhausting? Why do you have to work so much? And when, (for crying out loud), are you going to bring home a significant other? Have you thought at all about online dating or have you just acceptedthefactthatyoumightbealoneforever?

And on, and on, and on.

We’ll endure packed planes and pat-downs, gridlock traffic and kitchen meltdowns, yet every year we throw our bags over our shoulders and once more unto the breach we go. This year I’m seriously questioning it along with the whole of the holiday season. Perhaps it’s my prickly nugget of a soul, but I no longer see the point. It’s always there waiting to ruin the end of my November and entire December by making me proffer gifts and good cheer, pies (yes, the pumpkin pie was me), and an inordinate amount of patience. (Is it even possible to think about what comes after all of it - the weighty unavoidable horror of facing yet another year come and go?).

It’s. all. just. too. much.

So as I left the train I gave a silent nod of understanding to my fellow New Yorkers all on the brink of tomorrow’s mayhem. Yes, my eyes told them, the questions will come but you don’t have to answer. The moment you return to the city the rest of your year will disappear among lots of red and green lights and you’ll think there’s nothing you can do about it. You will be asked to attend office holiday parties and Christmas weddings and at least one terrible Broadway show you can’t afford with a friend visiting from out of town. But take care. You’ve been here before. Know it’s never too late to take a stand against these holiday traditions of yesteryear that rule our lives. Invitations can be declined. Friends and family can still love us even if we don’t buy them an iPad. We don’t have to keep going through the motions when the motions no longer make any sense.

We are New Yorkers (for crying out loud), and if anyone can take back this season, it’s us.

Serenity Now.

Oh I'd say it's easy to forget that the world doesn't, in fact, revolve around you once you've been living in this city for a while. I wasn't surprised really when this study came out last week that New Yorkers are some of the most stressed out folks in America. It’s the economy (stupid), but it’s also the commutes and the people and the rents (too damn high). The list goes on. I mean sure, we've chosen this lifestyle, but then again, what does that say about us?

It was an early morning and I was tired after getting under three hours of sleep the night before and I managed, somehow, to get out of the office long enough to run next door to Starbucks for coffee on a day when I knew there wasn't enough coffee in all of the city to get me through it. I knew right away when I walked in that something was off. It was quiet and the line was much too long, and (horror of horrors), it wasn't moving. At all. I saw a few people shake their heads and throw their arms up in exasperation and then walk out. Places to go people to see, man. I tried to remain patient and inched forward for what felt like an eternity. In my attempt to keep my eyes open as I stood there, I looked around and saw an ambulance pull up outside. That’s interesting, I thought. And then I saw the medics pull out a big white shiny gurney and start to frantically move in my direction. Very interesting.

It was then that I put two and two together (I'm extra slow without caffeine before 9AM), and they pushed by me and this long line of sleepy impatient New Yorkers and made their way to the back of the store. Before long I saw that they were actually in the process of picking up a barista off the floor and strapping him into their little contraption. His face was red, his blond hair matted down with sweat, and I knew I was supposed to look away but couldn't. And then it happened. It bubbled up from my stomach to my aching head, and there was nothing I could do to stop it: Of course, I thought. Unbelievable. Of all the mornings for some guy to pass out in Starbucks it had to be today at this exact moment, didn’t it?

I immediately hated myself.

But that's the thing, was it even really me? The reaction I had was automatic, an almost subconscious response, the kind of response I've been trained to have especially living here in this city of endless inconveniences. All I wanted was a Grande bold. Just seconds earlier that was the biggest problem of my day so far (well, I mean, I guess), and now here I was watching this young little barista who made one too many café latte's that morning getting taken to the hospital. He just couldn't take it anymore. Passed right out. Extra hot, no whip, decaf? I'm done with this, he thought. Call 911.

After they wheeled him out I did eventually get my coffee, but it felt wrong standing there adding the cream and then walking out with it on my own two healthy feet (surely karma was going to drop a piano on me as soon as I got outside, right?). When did I get like this? When did we all get like this? We're stressed, yes, but there has to be a middle ground somewhere between being annoyed at someone’s extreme misfortune and calling the paramedics because of it. I vowed then and there to make a change and attempt to see the world and the people in it differently, because maybe I'd been looking at it the wrong way for a while now. Who knows who this guy was back there whipping up foam and espresso, and where he'd come from and what he's been dealing with. Who was I to be so quick with my impatience for just a cup of coffee? Have a little understanding, have a little faith.

75% of us are stressed, according to this survey by The American Psychological Association, compared to 65% nationally. Apparently we eat too much and are unhappy with our jobs and we’ve yet to really reach a “Network” moment (I’m mad as hell…etc. etc.). What’s going on in the rest of the country that’s so great? Who knows, but my first thought was that I bet there aren’t many people walking around getting upset with their coffee provider while he’s en route to the emergency room. Maybe in New York we get so used to praying at the alter of being-on-the-go-all-of-the-time (we never sleep, right?) that we’ve been sleepwalking right through our lives, ignoring everyone around us and chalking them up to just one more thing we have to deal with, one more thing to make us stressed. And we don’t need one more thing to make us stressed. We know that.

So tomorrow everything changes, the way I order my coffee, the way I address that person standing at the top of the stairs of the subway looking at their Blackberry, the way I react to my credit card bill….maybe then my blood pressure will drop and I’ll feel better, happier, more mellow. Who knows, maybe then the people around me will start to change, too. And we can change! That concept won the vote in 2008 and heck, New York (and life) is based around the one certain fact that things will forever be constantly changing.

We need to accept that, yes, however also there is the unavoidable knowledge that in a city with lots of open windows looming above us with every step we take, one really never can tell when those pianos are going to start to fall. I figure it can't hurt to be prepared.