Monday, December 31, 2012
Happy New Year
Dream big & have huge ambition, but never forget life is lived in small moments and sustained by simple acts of love. - Cory Booker
Thursday, December 27, 2012
POCKETS FOR SNACKS!!!!
When a good friend got engaged over the holidays, this was my instant flash into chaos....
I will insist her dress have pockets....for snacks.
Good Riddance, 2012: The Year in Review
When I first started drafting this entry, I did a blow-by-blow of events that made 2012 absolutely the worst year of my life to date. I had a big ol' list. It was impressive. Color-coded by month (it's been a very slow week at work.)
And then after all that thinking and carefully selecting the "best blue" (winner: ocean)...I deleted it.
Because....fuck that. And fuck me. For being such a pitiful and self-absorbed asshole. Listing your problems? Jesus, Jamestown. Get over yourself.
Yes. I had an abysmal year. Being alive was not appealing. I fell far. Lost A LOT. When I wasn't crying, I was lashing out. I lost faith and found anger. I let a lot of stuff (and people) go. I was flipping through my 2012 calendar and realized I stopped marking anything after April. I guess that's the touchstone of when I threw in the towel. Feels right.
But I'm still here.
And so are the people I love, at least in some form. So. It's OK. We didn't lose our home to a hurricane, or our children at the hands of a murderer. In these two instances alone, I am fortunate.
After everything, not just this year, but in the past five since my father became ill, I feel considerably hardened. And I think, though some may (understandably) find me less pleasant, I am stronger and better protected. Some might think I am selling myself short by setting the bar so low on expectations for myself and others, but honestly (these are opinions and you are welcome to disagree) humanity hasn't really given me much to cheer for, and I know I am doing my best by the fact that I just keep going. I work hard and I do right by those I care about, and if I need to tell people to fuck off, or get a grip, or leave me alone, then I do. My emotional armor was a long time coming, and I need it now more than ever. There are still some chinks in it, it's not indestructible, but it exists.
In parting, a simple upnote:
Good things that happened to other people which I enjoyed: weddings, engagements, babies.
Good things that happened to me: new job.
See?
Friday, December 21, 2012
A Whole New World...
Those of you hoping for an Aladdin post...sorry. Maybe some other time. Here is hipster Aladdin to satiate your need until then.
In the hopes (and science?) that the world is still fine and dandy (and by "fine and dandy" I really mean "kind of bleak but still standing") by close of business today, I will wish you and yours a very happy winter solstice and 12/21/12 which has been enormous fun to type merely for its simplicity and repetition on the keyboard.
Did I ever tell you that I saw the movie 2012? It was even more terrible than I had previously anticipated. Laughably, cringe-worthy terrible. I didn't mind watching the film at the time because I was in the company of an incredibly handsome man, but still. That movie fucking sucked. I really can't stomach those moments where millions of people die in some kind of enormous CGI tragedy.
Truly.
I never actually thought the world was going to end. It was an interesting thought experiment in (reasonable) finality though. Like, if the world is over on Friday, do I have to do my laundry? (Yup) Can I eat nothing but cookies? (Negative) I should probably binge (in true Dionysian style) my way through oblivion.
Right?
There is something to be said for the pressure of DO IT NOW.
Years ago, when my mother needed a new handbag, she'd found one she'd liked very much, that came in both black and a raspberry color. She went back and forth between them, and began to rationalize that black was much more practical, etc etc. I recognized the signs. I turned to her, and said loudly
"What color do you want? Don't think! Just tell me!"
Needless to say, mom loves her raspberry purse. She tells her friends I am a fashion-y genius. Really I am more like a shouty bag lady. I know bags, what can I say. But by putting her on the spot and kind of forcing her to not think, she ended up saying exactly what she wanted. Which turned out great.
So what would you do if you had the end date for the end of the world? I know a lot of things would depend (obviously) on how the governments of the world are freaking out too (air travel and such) but what are your priorities? How much time do you spend with family versus friends? Do you hunker down? Or do you go party every last moment away? Do you know where you want to be?
"...tomorrow we will run faster, stretch out our arms further... And one fine morning -
So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past."
Food for thought. Speaking of food, here's this. I don't get it, but I fucking love it.
In the hopes (and science?) that the world is still fine and dandy (and by "fine and dandy" I really mean "kind of bleak but still standing") by close of business today, I will wish you and yours a very happy winter solstice and 12/21/12 which has been enormous fun to type merely for its simplicity and repetition on the keyboard.
Truly.
I never actually thought the world was going to end. It was an interesting thought experiment in (reasonable) finality though. Like, if the world is over on Friday, do I have to do my laundry? (Yup) Can I eat nothing but cookies? (Negative) I should probably binge (in true Dionysian style) my way through oblivion.
Right?
There is something to be said for the pressure of DO IT NOW.
Years ago, when my mother needed a new handbag, she'd found one she'd liked very much, that came in both black and a raspberry color. She went back and forth between them, and began to rationalize that black was much more practical, etc etc. I recognized the signs. I turned to her, and said loudly
"What color do you want? Don't think! Just tell me!"
Needless to say, mom loves her raspberry purse. She tells her friends I am a fashion-y genius. Really I am more like a shouty bag lady. I know bags, what can I say. But by putting her on the spot and kind of forcing her to not think, she ended up saying exactly what she wanted. Which turned out great.
So what would you do if you had the end date for the end of the world? I know a lot of things would depend (obviously) on how the governments of the world are freaking out too (air travel and such) but what are your priorities? How much time do you spend with family versus friends? Do you hunker down? Or do you go party every last moment away? Do you know where you want to be?
"...tomorrow we will run faster, stretch out our arms further... And one fine morning -
So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past."
Food for thought. Speaking of food, here's this. I don't get it, but I fucking love it.
Wednesday, December 19, 2012
Varsity Bitchface
Today has been the type of day at work where everyone is acting crazy and I cannot help but make this face.
What is going on?!?!?
Monday, December 17, 2012
Where Do We Go From Here?
After the last few days all I can manage to do is exhale. Breathing is suddenly something I have to think about. Loud, exasperated sighs serve only as a reminder that I'm....waiting? Not sure.
This is not how I had hoped to be in the days before Christmas. It really isn't. I had hoped to be sharing really joyous traditions, laughs and memories - not overwhelmed by a nation's grief, radiating sadness from the losses of others, and kind of wondering in the furthest back corner of my mind if Friday really is going to be the day life throws in the towel.
The shootings in Connecticut, the abrupt passing of a lovely and awesome girl I had the pleasure to meet (the friend of a friend), and some personal issues weighed heavily on my heart and mind. So much sadness at what should be such a happy time - what do you say to comfort those who need it? What can you do to help? I have always struggled with the public expression of grief. I come from a family of very private, internalizing people. I joke that we should make a family crest with "don't cry out loud" emblazoned where a more traditionally uplifting or bold motto would go. Don't mistake me....we're not dead inside. I have simply been raised to treat grief as a private affair - and I am glad for it. It's something to do with control, I suspect. The ability to keep it together is a great strength.
In the past few years, when tragedy strikes, or people pass, the first place I hear about it is (not kidding) Facebook. It is a place to react, theorize, explode and emote, for some. Right after the shootings, calls for banning guns and articles about mental illness flooded the newsfeed. (You're preaching the choir FB. I don't own a gun but I know how to fire one. And I'm well read on mental health laws in several states.) I guess what I'm taking a really roundabout way to say is that I personally prefer to process information privately before (if at all) taking to social media to speak my mind - whether it is to express outrage, grief, or demands for change. I just....need some time. I think there is something to be said of processing something for yourself before putting it out in a public forum. Maybe I'm overly cautious as to how I present myself. There was a great line in the Spike Lee movie, Inside Man, where Clive Owen (whose name I just blanked on) says "Pay strict attention to what I say because I choose my words carefully and I never repeat myself." There is something sage about that advice. I think a lot of misunderstanding and conflict could be avoided if we chose our words more carefully and delivered them publicly when we are sure we mean them. It doesn't mean we'll never make mistakes, or say something inappropriate in a public place. But it might help.
I think, in the coming months and years it will take to move forward and make real change, sincere, heartfelt talking will be critical. But I think if we think and ponder our words before we act and react...if we choose our words carefully and not just emote for the sake of emoting....we might be moving in the right direction.
This is not how I had hoped to be in the days before Christmas. It really isn't. I had hoped to be sharing really joyous traditions, laughs and memories - not overwhelmed by a nation's grief, radiating sadness from the losses of others, and kind of wondering in the furthest back corner of my mind if Friday really is going to be the day life throws in the towel.
The shootings in Connecticut, the abrupt passing of a lovely and awesome girl I had the pleasure to meet (the friend of a friend), and some personal issues weighed heavily on my heart and mind. So much sadness at what should be such a happy time - what do you say to comfort those who need it? What can you do to help? I have always struggled with the public expression of grief. I come from a family of very private, internalizing people. I joke that we should make a family crest with "don't cry out loud" emblazoned where a more traditionally uplifting or bold motto would go. Don't mistake me....we're not dead inside. I have simply been raised to treat grief as a private affair - and I am glad for it. It's something to do with control, I suspect. The ability to keep it together is a great strength.
In the past few years, when tragedy strikes, or people pass, the first place I hear about it is (not kidding) Facebook. It is a place to react, theorize, explode and emote, for some. Right after the shootings, calls for banning guns and articles about mental illness flooded the newsfeed. (You're preaching the choir FB. I don't own a gun but I know how to fire one. And I'm well read on mental health laws in several states.) I guess what I'm taking a really roundabout way to say is that I personally prefer to process information privately before (if at all) taking to social media to speak my mind - whether it is to express outrage, grief, or demands for change. I just....need some time. I think there is something to be said of processing something for yourself before putting it out in a public forum. Maybe I'm overly cautious as to how I present myself. There was a great line in the Spike Lee movie, Inside Man, where Clive Owen (whose name I just blanked on) says "Pay strict attention to what I say because I choose my words carefully and I never repeat myself." There is something sage about that advice. I think a lot of misunderstanding and conflict could be avoided if we chose our words more carefully and delivered them publicly when we are sure we mean them. It doesn't mean we'll never make mistakes, or say something inappropriate in a public place. But it might help.
I think, in the coming months and years it will take to move forward and make real change, sincere, heartfelt talking will be critical. But I think if we think and ponder our words before we act and react...if we choose our words carefully and not just emote for the sake of emoting....we might be moving in the right direction.
Friday, December 14, 2012
Another Kind of Heartbroken...
My plan, at first, for today was to talk about the early Christmas that I did last week with my family. I'd talk about how I'm still figuring out how to handle daily interaction with dad, much less the enormous stress of the holidays. I'd tell you the tape loop of his mind seems virtually nonexistent, and if I'm really being honest with myself, I don't know how much of me (the person) he knows, or where we go from here...(down, J. We go down until it's over.)
But then the shooting in Connecticut happened and my problems needed to step aside for a while. Today, I think people are a different kind of heartbroken - the kind where it didn't happen to you, but your heart hurts terribly anyway. And hurts is an understatement. Devastated. Confused, scared and angry. And we're just bystanders.
Although the death of a loved one is a nightmare, I always thought it would be particularly terrible to lose someone you love around Christmas time. I suppose that is my rather childish way of thinking. I cannot even begin to fathom the depth of those parents despair....to lose their beloved children right around the time that brings a family so much joy. Presents, bought but perhaps not yet wrapped, stand as towering reminders of what you have lost. God. I can't.
I'm sure more will come to light about the shooter, and we'll try to understand. I hope that we'll talk about gun control, and warning signs, and leave religion out of it. It is time to have the tough conversations. It was time a long while ago. But for today, we will simply be one broken heart, together.
But then the shooting in Connecticut happened and my problems needed to step aside for a while. Today, I think people are a different kind of heartbroken - the kind where it didn't happen to you, but your heart hurts terribly anyway. And hurts is an understatement. Devastated. Confused, scared and angry. And we're just bystanders.
Although the death of a loved one is a nightmare, I always thought it would be particularly terrible to lose someone you love around Christmas time. I suppose that is my rather childish way of thinking. I cannot even begin to fathom the depth of those parents despair....to lose their beloved children right around the time that brings a family so much joy. Presents, bought but perhaps not yet wrapped, stand as towering reminders of what you have lost. God. I can't.
I'm sure more will come to light about the shooter, and we'll try to understand. I hope that we'll talk about gun control, and warning signs, and leave religion out of it. It is time to have the tough conversations. It was time a long while ago. But for today, we will simply be one broken heart, together.
Thursday, December 13, 2012
Going to Lose My Nerd Card for This, BUT....
I CAN'T GO SEE THE HOBBIT, GUYS.
I've done my time in Middle Earth. It's over. Let's just go home now. I don't care anymore about rings or elves, dwarves, hobbits, Smeagol, Gandalf, or yo motha. It's like "fetch"....no matter how hard you try, this just isn't going to happen for me.
Even though I am weirdly obsessed with the Denny's/Hobbit tie-in promotion, I simply don't understand why we're back again for this story. But I always understand pancakes, bacon, potatoes, and things that look like cheese is baked inside. This menu looks like every suburban stoner-nerd's dream. "Onion rings piled high as Mount Doom!"
I don't even like eggs (they make me sick) and this looks mad good!
Seriously, though. Having just had this discussion with the IT guy (so you know it's the real nerd deal) I simply came to the conclusion that three extended LOTR edition films later (which I happily own and account for roughly thirty viewing hours of my life) have gone to the films, and while they were good college fun, I simply cannot anymore. I'm tapped. Especially when they've gone and stretched The Hobbit, one average-length book, into three MORE films just to suck all the cash monies possible out of your wallet - at $19 or so here in NYC per fancy IMAX film. As much as I adore Martin Freeman and am THRILLED he's got this huge vehicle, I can't get excited for this.
Also I need to talk about the dwarves. Why are some dwarfish and some sexy?
That just doesn't seem right.
I'll leave you with these Hobbit-themed pickup lines I found on flavorwire.com....
- I must be the ring and you must be Bilbo, because you’ve got me wrapped around your finger.
- I’ll take you there and back again.
- Just wait until sunset — that’s when I’m going to open your secret door.
- Were you born from Smaug’s mouth? Because you came out hot.
- Girl, you’re glowing. Are there orcs nearby or are you just glad to see me?
Bwaaaaah. So stupid, but I'm chuckling nonetheless.
Friday, December 7, 2012
Whoops! My Bad. Have Some Gifs.
(Right. I'm away next week. Not sure if I will post. Unless something crazy happens or I've got some feelings. Who knows. Stay tuned.)
ALSO I was probably distracted yesterday because of an AMAZING run-in with my work crush. We bumped into each other on a street corner about a block from our office, and he recognized me despite the fact that I was well hidden under my big old coat, aviator sunglasses and earmuffs. He smiled and said hi and we proceeded to have yet another nice chat on our way in. I was so happy and excited (and maybe a little bit starry-eyed in like) that I was doing the Jeremy Renner dance of sexy times all day at work.
So because it's Friday, (I'm in...like!) here are some more thoughts/gifs I've been collecting.
Don't say I'm copping out. You got an extra post out of me yesterday, raging against society and (sometimes) homeless people.
I cannot wait to get out of here. Even if just for a few days. I'm not really feeling NYC much anymore, and can't wait for some space, and air. I'm going to go for so many drives. And long walks ( I mean, I do that plenty here, but a change of scenery will be nice.) I'm probably going to turn off my phone too! It's going to be SO GOOD.
So if you need me for the next week....not going to happen. Sorry.
But I'm still not picking up. I'm living and breathing some freedom...Merry Christmas to me.
Thursday, December 6, 2012
These Boots Were Made For Controversy
It's the image we've all seen now.
An NYPD officer, photographed (conveniently? maybe.) buying and giving a pair of boots to a barefoot and seemingly homeless man. A heartwarming, PR-solid story to keep that holiday high.
Apparently, though, things are not as simple as they seemed. In short, the gentlemen pictured is not homeless, he has an apartment in the Bronx paid through the Department of Veterans Affairs. He has been offered assistance by both his relatives and city outreach programs and has turned them down. The New York Times found the man barefoot once again, saying he hid the boots because "They are worth a lot of money.”
And though he appreciates the gesture, he absolutely "wants a piece of the pie" (his terms not mine) from whatever monetary windfall the photo creates. Does a photo posted on the big free internet really get him any money? I don't think the photographer got any, nor the policeman. If they DID, for whatever reason, I hope they donated the money to a charity assisting homeless veterans.
I'm of two minds on the matter. We'll call the positive outlook Rudolph and the negative Frosty.
Rudolph: Whatever the situation of the homeless man, the gifting of the boots doesn't make the officer's gesture any less generous. The policeman acted as a great example to his peers, his community and the nation as a whole. The world is undoubtedly a better place where actions come from the heart, and we are more willing to do nice things for strangers, rather than being an aloof asshole just because you think everybody is out to scam you. What else can be done to improve the lives and conditions of those living on the street? Understanding. Not everyone is a drunk, druggie grifter. Lots are, but not everyone. A huge amount of homeless people are mentally ill. It is important to cultivate greater quality services for the homeless and the mentally ill so they can find their way to a stronger, sufficient life. My guess is the boots guy isn't all there mentally. So what does it take to legally get him into a clean safe place and the medical attention he needs?
Frosty: The pic is a backfired PR stunt to try and boost the tarnished image of the NYPD. (Cannibal, racist and rapist cops dominated headlines this year.) People would be better to homeless people if so many of them weren't aggressive scam artists. Personal experience in NYC hasn't given me much to be hopeful about. T offered a begging man on the street her unopened can of Arizona iced tea because he was begging for "food, drink, anything you can spare." He rudely replied "You don't have Snapple?" (And he was serious. T was in shock.) I have seen food refused more times than I can remember. THEY DON'T WANT FOOD. They want booze and drug money. Pregnant, tattooed faced lady on the 1 train begs for money because "she has nothing." But in between times I saw her (2 weeks) she found the money for a new tattoo and hair dye. Don't get me started on the people who use babies or pets as props. We've been given to reason to trust that our money will do anything to help anyone, which is why money should ONLY be donated to shelters and organizations with good track records.
We reap what we sow - on both sides.It's a lot to think about, and I for one don't have the answers.
An NYPD officer, photographed (conveniently? maybe.) buying and giving a pair of boots to a barefoot and seemingly homeless man. A heartwarming, PR-solid story to keep that holiday high.
Apparently, though, things are not as simple as they seemed. In short, the gentlemen pictured is not homeless, he has an apartment in the Bronx paid through the Department of Veterans Affairs. He has been offered assistance by both his relatives and city outreach programs and has turned them down. The New York Times found the man barefoot once again, saying he hid the boots because "They are worth a lot of money.”
And though he appreciates the gesture, he absolutely "wants a piece of the pie" (his terms not mine) from whatever monetary windfall the photo creates. Does a photo posted on the big free internet really get him any money? I don't think the photographer got any, nor the policeman. If they DID, for whatever reason, I hope they donated the money to a charity assisting homeless veterans.
I'm of two minds on the matter. We'll call the positive outlook Rudolph and the negative Frosty.
Rudolph: Whatever the situation of the homeless man, the gifting of the boots doesn't make the officer's gesture any less generous. The policeman acted as a great example to his peers, his community and the nation as a whole. The world is undoubtedly a better place where actions come from the heart, and we are more willing to do nice things for strangers, rather than being an aloof asshole just because you think everybody is out to scam you. What else can be done to improve the lives and conditions of those living on the street? Understanding. Not everyone is a drunk, druggie grifter. Lots are, but not everyone. A huge amount of homeless people are mentally ill. It is important to cultivate greater quality services for the homeless and the mentally ill so they can find their way to a stronger, sufficient life. My guess is the boots guy isn't all there mentally. So what does it take to legally get him into a clean safe place and the medical attention he needs?
Frosty: The pic is a backfired PR stunt to try and boost the tarnished image of the NYPD. (Cannibal, racist and rapist cops dominated headlines this year.) People would be better to homeless people if so many of them weren't aggressive scam artists. Personal experience in NYC hasn't given me much to be hopeful about. T offered a begging man on the street her unopened can of Arizona iced tea because he was begging for "food, drink, anything you can spare." He rudely replied "You don't have Snapple?" (And he was serious. T was in shock.) I have seen food refused more times than I can remember. THEY DON'T WANT FOOD. They want booze and drug money. Pregnant, tattooed faced lady on the 1 train begs for money because "she has nothing." But in between times I saw her (2 weeks) she found the money for a new tattoo and hair dye. Don't get me started on the people who use babies or pets as props. We've been given to reason to trust that our money will do anything to help anyone, which is why money should ONLY be donated to shelters and organizations with good track records.
We reap what we sow - on both sides.It's a lot to think about, and I for one don't have the answers.
Wednesday, December 5, 2012
HUMANITY! (facepalm)
A while back, probably in the second or third in this stretch of horrible years ("Not doing so great since 2008") I made myself a simple necklace, a dark silver chain with a life preserver charm on the end of it. To me, the charm was a sign of "you're going to get by" and that at the end of the day, help only could be found withing yourself, and not from others. It was a totem of self-reliance.
With the onslaught of the holidays and the explosion of "good will" that it brings, I'm wondering a lot what it means to help and be helpful. Between news stories and my own personal experiences of reaching or being reached out to, I've been left with lots of questions AND answers. Let me explain.
Up until yesterday, I had decided that it would be impossible for me to get home for Christmas this year. M had offered me a spot at her family's Christmas dinner (an offer so generous it maybe rained on my face a little) and I realized that I couldn't bear the idea of my mother being by herself (after a brief visit with my dad in the home) on Christmas. So I asked for a bit of help (financially) to be able to join her for a few days and of course she was overjoyed that I'd make it home, even if it will be a short trip, and I'll be traveling back Christmas night. It was through the help and generosity of those around me that I could figure out exactly what I needed (emotionally) and how to do it (realistically).
With "help" on my mind, I was sickened with this image on the NY Post front page Tuesday.
I think we can all agree that this is some seriously fucked up shit.
I was watching the news yesterday as I got ready for work, and the photographer claims that he was running towards the man and snapping the pictures using flash in order to warn the train driver (and the driver says he did see the flash) but I frankly don't buy it and I'm still horrified that these photos even exist, and that any newspaper, even one as gross as the post, would publish them. With grotesque details like "DOOMED" and "about to die" this is pure shock value, and I hope that if the photographer made a dime off them, he should give it to the family of the deceased. Doubtful, but you never know. But I'm pretty sure we are all wondering the same thing...
WHY WOULDN'T YOU PUT YOUR CAMERA DOWN AND RUN TO HELP HIM?!?!
WHERE THE HELL WAS EVERYBODY?!?!
This murder (the man was pushed, terrifying) took place at a subway station near Times Square. Having been to that station often, I can tell you it is rarely empty.
I have no answers. I understand shock and fear, but I also understand the adrenaline kick that comes with those situations, and even if (sadly) one were to be unsuccessful, how could you stand by and not try to save a man's life is beyond me. Where was his life preserver? Where were the people who could have helped?
Ugh. Humanity. I'm starting to wonder if maybe the Mayans were right, and our time here should be about up.
Monday, December 3, 2012
I Have the Right to Remain Silent
Everything I say can be used against me at some point or another.
I have the right to an attorney. She is also my dearest friend. She lives in Florida.(Hi, B!)
Do I understand my rights as I have re-edited them for myself?
Yes.
Finally.
My days, on the whole, go something like this:
7:20am - Wake Up. Morning rituals.
9:00am (latest) - Out of the apartment. Walk to work.
10:00-6:30am - Work! Walk home.
7:30pm - Home.
7:45pm - Grab some dinner. Decompress. Get some writing done. Call Mom.
(Occasionally this is preempted by drinks with friends, spur-of-the-moment adventures of a cultural nature, or trip to the movies)
11:30pm-Midnight - Bed
Not a super outrageous or fulfilling life, but for now, it is what I have. It is BUSY. I am always connected, moving, thinking, doing something on behalf of someone. It is my job to connect with people, with limited breaks, from 10am to 6:30pm. To do this can be a lot of fun (you meet some cool people) and really awful (and a bunch of assholes) but a huge part of my job is to be personal and helpful and kind and open and firing on all cylinders in order to make sure things go off without a hitch. I type, and talk, and write and arrange and organize. It is musical chairs in a multi-million dollar playground. I solve problems and call in the big guns when I can't.
To be so constantly connected means that it is just as important for me to disconnect when I can. On breaks, I go outside and look at buildings, and people walking by. I'm sure I look insane, but after staring into a monitor so long I like to see stuff that's real. Around 9pm every night, I switch my phone to airplane mode. Some weekends I leave my phone off the entire time, and don't check my email. It's wonderful. And I have to do it. The quiet time alone in my own mind is how I recalibrate. Often times I think it's one of the few things that keeps me from going off the rails entirely. My dear friend and I took a really gorgeous, relaxing walk around the ground of Columbia University last night and talked about trying to find things that helped us recharge our batteries. There needed to be activities that we could share with those we loved, and other things that we managed to keep entirely for ourselves. For me? I like to go on hikes. I like to move. I like the chatter of getting a drink and the quiet of the movies. It's important to me to have both, to be balanced in my interests.
The upside? I work really hard and I know it's being noticed and appreciated. That's cool.
The downside? Less time to keep up with those who live outside of this very insular orbit. Even close friends here in the city I sometimes see only every few months! My old roomie and I have been trying to set up a dinner date since before the hurricane! But we get and appreciate that we're busy and we'll get there. It's not always easy being my friend. If it's not the wild goose chase of finding the time that works for both our schedules, it's the fact that I might be a little manic OR quiet and exhausted when I see you. If we've come this far though, you know that I care about you and value our friendship. I just need my time, as I'm sure you need yours. The need for the silence, for the quiet peace of disconnect is my own thing, and not a reflection on the great people I call friends.
I have the right to an attorney. She is also my dearest friend. She lives in Florida.(Hi, B!)
Do I understand my rights as I have re-edited them for myself?
Yes.
Finally.
My days, on the whole, go something like this:
7:20am - Wake Up. Morning rituals.
9:00am (latest) - Out of the apartment. Walk to work.
10:00-6:30am - Work! Walk home.
7:30pm - Home.
7:45pm - Grab some dinner. Decompress. Get some writing done. Call Mom.
(Occasionally this is preempted by drinks with friends, spur-of-the-moment adventures of a cultural nature, or trip to the movies)
11:30pm-Midnight - Bed
Not a super outrageous or fulfilling life, but for now, it is what I have. It is BUSY. I am always connected, moving, thinking, doing something on behalf of someone. It is my job to connect with people, with limited breaks, from 10am to 6:30pm. To do this can be a lot of fun (you meet some cool people) and really awful (and a bunch of assholes) but a huge part of my job is to be personal and helpful and kind and open and firing on all cylinders in order to make sure things go off without a hitch. I type, and talk, and write and arrange and organize. It is musical chairs in a multi-million dollar playground. I solve problems and call in the big guns when I can't.
To be so constantly connected means that it is just as important for me to disconnect when I can. On breaks, I go outside and look at buildings, and people walking by. I'm sure I look insane, but after staring into a monitor so long I like to see stuff that's real. Around 9pm every night, I switch my phone to airplane mode. Some weekends I leave my phone off the entire time, and don't check my email. It's wonderful. And I have to do it. The quiet time alone in my own mind is how I recalibrate. Often times I think it's one of the few things that keeps me from going off the rails entirely. My dear friend and I took a really gorgeous, relaxing walk around the ground of Columbia University last night and talked about trying to find things that helped us recharge our batteries. There needed to be activities that we could share with those we loved, and other things that we managed to keep entirely for ourselves. For me? I like to go on hikes. I like to move. I like the chatter of getting a drink and the quiet of the movies. It's important to me to have both, to be balanced in my interests.
The upside? I work really hard and I know it's being noticed and appreciated. That's cool.
The downside? Less time to keep up with those who live outside of this very insular orbit. Even close friends here in the city I sometimes see only every few months! My old roomie and I have been trying to set up a dinner date since before the hurricane! But we get and appreciate that we're busy and we'll get there. It's not always easy being my friend. If it's not the wild goose chase of finding the time that works for both our schedules, it's the fact that I might be a little manic OR quiet and exhausted when I see you. If we've come this far though, you know that I care about you and value our friendship. I just need my time, as I'm sure you need yours. The need for the silence, for the quiet peace of disconnect is my own thing, and not a reflection on the great people I call friends.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)