For many years I went from here to there, sometimes living in small towns and sometimes in large ones. I've visited large ones from time to time, but never lived in one, until recently.
I got an apartment overlooking Park. It seemed I'd been here a long time, but on reflection that was because of the enormity of the experience and how the change in lifestyle and pace affected me. Getting the call to come in for a second interview and then being offered a position and then having to scramble to find a place and then finding one with such a view and then making arrangements to have everything moved. Then, I had to get beyond the sites you see on vacations and find out where the places you needed to know to live. Where are the grocery stores, and where the shopping malls, and so forth. I remember trying to figure out where to take my garbage and was somewhat fascinated that it was a chute at the end of the hall. It was the kind of thing you never thought about when you have a house in a small town. There you take it out to the curb.
In any case, it had been perhaps two months and having settled into my job, I had gotten into a sort of rhythm. I would wake at 6:30, go to the front door and grab the paper and grab a bowl of cereal before I showered and left by 7:15. Then, I would take the elevator down to the lobby, down a block and take the subway for two stops. Then, I would go out the South East exit, down two blocks and take a right for one block. I'd be in my office and at my desk ready for my first meeting at 8:00. It was so easy to stick to this schedule since everything seemed to run like clockwork. After the novelty wore off and I started to feel a little more at home, I started to have twinges of regret. I suppose it had something to do with feeling like an awfully small fish in a big pond, but in my spare moments I started wondering where I fit in this place. It was just too big and full of people to think of myself as anything more than a visitor. At times I reflected back at my home back in Indiana and would just marvel at the difference in pace.
It was on just such an evening that I sat at my kitchen table trying to work out how to find my place here. I had decided on the spur of the moment that I would like to drink a 7 and 7, so had detoured to that purpose and found myself at the kitchen table grabbing a drink and pacing the living room. As I went back and forth, I cupped the drink and stared down at the floor, trying to find meaning in the countless curves of the Persian rug beneath my toes. Then, I stopped and turned to my balcony. It was hidden there on the other side of the curtains, but until then I had not bothered to go outside or even open the curtains. Strange, wasn't it? So, I made up my mind to go then. I opened the door leading out to it and looked briefly for the small table and pair of chairs I recalled being there. Not being disappointed, I took a seat and looked out. As I sat there, a cool breeze brushed passed and I took another sip of my drink. Outside was a great void and below was this big city and far below I could hear the humming of traffic and could see countless lights on, like an ordered reflection of the starry night above. Every one of those lights meant something. So many people out there.
And then it struck me. They're like me. Sure, they may have been here much longer, many from birth. But, essentially, they wanted to feel like they belonged too. If I look at a certain light, would there be that young man studying to be a teacher that I overheard on the subway this morning? If I looked at another, could it be there that the older lady that kept muttering to herself, heeding nobody around her? Some people handled it better than others, no doubt. Some people saw all the people around them every day and were lost. Others just let people pass by and pay them not much more heed than some commercial they have to endure in order to see their show. Quite interesting, really. In a sense we were all one really big family. There would be some nuts, some crazies out there. But, there'd be the genuine ones too. Most would be average. In a way, it was nice knowing that everyone had dreams, and in their small little ways, most would be willing to scuffle and scurry on, intent on making the most of them.
It was relaxing in a way. I was enjoying my drink. I leaned over to my iPod and turned the volume up slightly on the classical music. In the other chair sat my wife. She sat on the balcony almost nightly since we moved here. No wonder she seemed so at ease. What a foolish man I was, and slow. I took another sip and looked over at her. Our gazes lingered on one another for a long moment and a slight smile played on her lips, as if to say 'What took you so long, love?'. It was then, that I was home.
I got an apartment overlooking Park. It seemed I'd been here a long time, but on reflection that was because of the enormity of the experience and how the change in lifestyle and pace affected me. Getting the call to come in for a second interview and then being offered a position and then having to scramble to find a place and then finding one with such a view and then making arrangements to have everything moved. Then, I had to get beyond the sites you see on vacations and find out where the places you needed to know to live. Where are the grocery stores, and where the shopping malls, and so forth. I remember trying to figure out where to take my garbage and was somewhat fascinated that it was a chute at the end of the hall. It was the kind of thing you never thought about when you have a house in a small town. There you take it out to the curb.
In any case, it had been perhaps two months and having settled into my job, I had gotten into a sort of rhythm. I would wake at 6:30, go to the front door and grab the paper and grab a bowl of cereal before I showered and left by 7:15. Then, I would take the elevator down to the lobby, down a block and take the subway for two stops. Then, I would go out the South East exit, down two blocks and take a right for one block. I'd be in my office and at my desk ready for my first meeting at 8:00. It was so easy to stick to this schedule since everything seemed to run like clockwork. After the novelty wore off and I started to feel a little more at home, I started to have twinges of regret. I suppose it had something to do with feeling like an awfully small fish in a big pond, but in my spare moments I started wondering where I fit in this place. It was just too big and full of people to think of myself as anything more than a visitor. At times I reflected back at my home back in Indiana and would just marvel at the difference in pace.
It was on just such an evening that I sat at my kitchen table trying to work out how to find my place here. I had decided on the spur of the moment that I would like to drink a 7 and 7, so had detoured to that purpose and found myself at the kitchen table grabbing a drink and pacing the living room. As I went back and forth, I cupped the drink and stared down at the floor, trying to find meaning in the countless curves of the Persian rug beneath my toes. Then, I stopped and turned to my balcony. It was hidden there on the other side of the curtains, but until then I had not bothered to go outside or even open the curtains. Strange, wasn't it? So, I made up my mind to go then. I opened the door leading out to it and looked briefly for the small table and pair of chairs I recalled being there. Not being disappointed, I took a seat and looked out. As I sat there, a cool breeze brushed passed and I took another sip of my drink. Outside was a great void and below was this big city and far below I could hear the humming of traffic and could see countless lights on, like an ordered reflection of the starry night above. Every one of those lights meant something. So many people out there.
And then it struck me. They're like me. Sure, they may have been here much longer, many from birth. But, essentially, they wanted to feel like they belonged too. If I look at a certain light, would there be that young man studying to be a teacher that I overheard on the subway this morning? If I looked at another, could it be there that the older lady that kept muttering to herself, heeding nobody around her? Some people handled it better than others, no doubt. Some people saw all the people around them every day and were lost. Others just let people pass by and pay them not much more heed than some commercial they have to endure in order to see their show. Quite interesting, really. In a sense we were all one really big family. There would be some nuts, some crazies out there. But, there'd be the genuine ones too. Most would be average. In a way, it was nice knowing that everyone had dreams, and in their small little ways, most would be willing to scuffle and scurry on, intent on making the most of them.
It was relaxing in a way. I was enjoying my drink. I leaned over to my iPod and turned the volume up slightly on the classical music. In the other chair sat my wife. She sat on the balcony almost nightly since we moved here. No wonder she seemed so at ease. What a foolish man I was, and slow. I took another sip and looked over at her. Our gazes lingered on one another for a long moment and a slight smile played on her lips, as if to say 'What took you so long, love?'. It was then, that I was home.
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