down by the river
how do i begin to tell you the difference in how i am living now?
i am out of the city, now. imagine that. only a 45 minute train ride, but still.
i have decided to commit to my job for a year. even the fact that i can decide to do this shows me that i am not the person i once was. and i think that is a good thing. this means i have more patience. this means that i am willing to take a chance on something that is not immediately gratifying. this means that i am better at sticking with something, and that i can invest time and energy in doing responsible things. this means i can afford to pay more than twice as much as my mother does on rent every month. barely. but all amazing indications.
we change.
i guess i worry, too, that i am now simply Working For the Man, and that i have abandoned the more risky and fun elements of my personality. i worry that this means that the Artist is taking a backseat to the Drone.
note: this is not a call for anyone to offer their unsolicited opinion on which of the above are true. you simply don't know. and it will not help my process for you to offer an opinion on me. you are free to talk about yourself if you are moved to. just remember: i am words on a page to you; i am a flickering screen. i am an image in your picture book, a squirming urge in your belly, at best. you do not fill these shoes. and in the past i would never have put such a rude addendum on my entry. but i have learned that we are people of impulse, and i do not want to be hurt by anyone's good intentions. forgive me. but heed me.
neither of the two choices above are true, incidentally. the two choices are not mutually exclusive. and that is the danger of the either/or fallacy. i am the artist, following an opportunity. and part of the process, part of the time, is being a drone. i am having my first written work published, internationally, in the Spring. i am having the first book cover that i have ever illustrated published this Spring. these are a direct result of this job. which is a direct result of my following previous impulses and taking certain risks. i mean to follow this path to see where it leads. i reserve the right to abandon the path at any time of my choosing. i will answer to no one but my own heart and mind.
i have removed myself from the wonderfully filthy city streets; the mad, gleaming, crying, flowing stream of color and noise. i have removed myself from daily commutes and the stress of catching six trains a day. i have removed myself from late night bodegas and cheap liquor.
i have removed myself from countless opportunities to eat a slice of pizza and from the possibility of taking a 2 am train home. i have removed the orange nighttime sky, i have removed the bengali dress and the endless stream of faces from my streets. i have removed myself from cheap rent and affordable ghetto brooklyn prices.
i have removed myself from a schedule that squeezes me between a 6:15 am alarm and an 11 pm bedtime. i have removed myself from moving anonymous about the city. i have removed myself from cheap brooklyn prices. i have lost the ability to say what up son, i'm from the Brook. i have removed long walks to the laundromat and quick access to produce. i have removed myself from mile-high buildings, lights, and pulses of electricity.
i have given myself four more hours a day. i have given myself time to pick up my guitar again. i have given myself calm in the morning, and an 8 o'clock alarm that sounds long after i have risen.
true, i have given myself a cost of living that probably exceeds my means, realistically. but it just means i have less money to throw around every month. but i knew that was coming. it's easy to look at the money, but when i look at what i have gained, i have to say it is definitely worth everty penny. for i have given myself late nights that don't leave me exhausted in the morning. i have given myself a five minute walk to work. i have given myself starry skies and a back yard that i can grow a garden in or have a barbecue in. i have given myself time to appreciate these things.
i have given myself sunlight in every room and a feeling of peace at the end of the workday. i have given myself the ability to walk home for lunch. i have given myself friendly people in the stores and exorbitant Westchester county prices. i have gained the ability to say, harumph, i live in Westchester county (which i don't care about, thank you, although my ultimate plan is to continue to reap rewards of society, just enough to give me cred when i piss in the face of it all). i have given myself a washer and dryer in the basement, tall ceilings, and a nice, white, clean bathroom with superdeluxe water pressure. i have given myself a wide, wide river at the bottom of the hill.
i could go back and forth with the benefits versus the costs. but for me, the bottom line is i have brought a quality of calm back to my life. i had become so used to the 4 hours a day commuting that i no longer even realized what it was doing to me. surely, we can grow used to anything. and i am certainly living testament to what a human can habituate to. i could list over a dozen situations in my past where no sane person could stomach living in such a way. and yet, i did. and that is who i am and where i've been. well, any person with a similar history will tell you: just because you can adapt to something does not mean it does not extract a toll. there is a high cost to such adaptation, specifics dependent upon the particular situation. and part of that adaptation is no longer seeing, objectively, what the cost is. that is part of staying sane throughout.
my home had become a place to let my body collapse in between commutes. i got home at seven, if i left work ight at five pm. i had barely eaten, checked my email and kicked off my shoes before i was approaching time to sleep. once i had watched the Daily Show, it was late for me. any time after ten pm i was still awake would cost me dearly in the morning, when my 6:15 alarm rang. i would wake up exhausted, in the near darkness, stumble into the shower. if i did not hit all my stations (shave, teeth, find socks, get pants, grab bag, check that i had my phone, wallet, necklace, chapstick, subway card, newspaper money, coffee money, keys) or if i tarried too long at any one checkpoint, this would build my stress level. i had to be out the door at 7 am. and every minute past that meant a faster walk, a higher level of anxiety for me, trying to catch all the right trains.
my schedule (was):
-leave work by 5 pm
-GCS by 6 pm
-on 6 train by 6:10
-transfer to F by 6:30 or so
-home by 7 pm
-in bed by 11, some nights by 12, although that would hurt in the morning
-up at 6:15, 6:30 on "leisurely" days
-out of front door by 7 am
-at church ave stop and on F train by 7:15
-at bleecker st and on 6 train by 7:45
-at Grand Central Station by 8 am
-at Starbucks in GCS by 8:05 am
-on Metronorth train by 8:10
-then it was out at the Irvington stop (if you sleep, make sure you wake up at the right stop), on to the Korean deli for my breakfast, and then to work by 9:20 am. anyone who has commuted, or who has even visited GCS knows what kind of stress that is, in and of itself.
since i moved?
i get up in the morning, walk around the house before work. i wake up before my alarm even goes off. i stroll into the kitchen to see the light coming over the houses at the end of my yard. i don't need to worry if my roommate or his guests are in the bathroom, or if my roommate has left plant dirt, cat litter or any other crud on the floor of the bathtub. i don't need to worry about a roommate being in the closet-sized kitchen, who may be cooking strange-smelling nuggets that he will later leave soaking in the filthy sink. my kitchen is large, bright, and has recessed ceiling lights. there is no cat litterbox in there, either.
this morning i pulled out an old simon and garfunkel album and put it on the turntable. i let my bare toes wiggle into the rug. i heated up some hot cocoa. i sat at the computer for a while. i lit some herbal offerings to the gods of the hudson, opened the shades, unpacked a few more things, watched the sun's slow ascent.
i am out of the city, now. imagine that. only a 45 minute train ride, but still.
i have decided to commit to my job for a year. even the fact that i can decide to do this shows me that i am not the person i once was. and i think that is a good thing. this means i have more patience. this means that i am willing to take a chance on something that is not immediately gratifying. this means that i am better at sticking with something, and that i can invest time and energy in doing responsible things. this means i can afford to pay more than twice as much as my mother does on rent every month. barely. but all amazing indications.
we change.
i guess i worry, too, that i am now simply Working For the Man, and that i have abandoned the more risky and fun elements of my personality. i worry that this means that the Artist is taking a backseat to the Drone.
note: this is not a call for anyone to offer their unsolicited opinion on which of the above are true. you simply don't know. and it will not help my process for you to offer an opinion on me. you are free to talk about yourself if you are moved to. just remember: i am words on a page to you; i am a flickering screen. i am an image in your picture book, a squirming urge in your belly, at best. you do not fill these shoes. and in the past i would never have put such a rude addendum on my entry. but i have learned that we are people of impulse, and i do not want to be hurt by anyone's good intentions. forgive me. but heed me.
neither of the two choices above are true, incidentally. the two choices are not mutually exclusive. and that is the danger of the either/or fallacy. i am the artist, following an opportunity. and part of the process, part of the time, is being a drone. i am having my first written work published, internationally, in the Spring. i am having the first book cover that i have ever illustrated published this Spring. these are a direct result of this job. which is a direct result of my following previous impulses and taking certain risks. i mean to follow this path to see where it leads. i reserve the right to abandon the path at any time of my choosing. i will answer to no one but my own heart and mind.
i have removed myself from the wonderfully filthy city streets; the mad, gleaming, crying, flowing stream of color and noise. i have removed myself from daily commutes and the stress of catching six trains a day. i have removed myself from late night bodegas and cheap liquor.
i have removed myself from countless opportunities to eat a slice of pizza and from the possibility of taking a 2 am train home. i have removed the orange nighttime sky, i have removed the bengali dress and the endless stream of faces from my streets. i have removed myself from cheap rent and affordable ghetto brooklyn prices.
i have removed myself from a schedule that squeezes me between a 6:15 am alarm and an 11 pm bedtime. i have removed myself from moving anonymous about the city. i have removed myself from cheap brooklyn prices. i have lost the ability to say what up son, i'm from the Brook. i have removed long walks to the laundromat and quick access to produce. i have removed myself from mile-high buildings, lights, and pulses of electricity.
i have given myself four more hours a day. i have given myself time to pick up my guitar again. i have given myself calm in the morning, and an 8 o'clock alarm that sounds long after i have risen.
true, i have given myself a cost of living that probably exceeds my means, realistically. but it just means i have less money to throw around every month. but i knew that was coming. it's easy to look at the money, but when i look at what i have gained, i have to say it is definitely worth everty penny. for i have given myself late nights that don't leave me exhausted in the morning. i have given myself a five minute walk to work. i have given myself starry skies and a back yard that i can grow a garden in or have a barbecue in. i have given myself time to appreciate these things.
i have given myself sunlight in every room and a feeling of peace at the end of the workday. i have given myself the ability to walk home for lunch. i have given myself friendly people in the stores and exorbitant Westchester county prices. i have gained the ability to say, harumph, i live in Westchester county (which i don't care about, thank you, although my ultimate plan is to continue to reap rewards of society, just enough to give me cred when i piss in the face of it all). i have given myself a washer and dryer in the basement, tall ceilings, and a nice, white, clean bathroom with superdeluxe water pressure. i have given myself a wide, wide river at the bottom of the hill.
i could go back and forth with the benefits versus the costs. but for me, the bottom line is i have brought a quality of calm back to my life. i had become so used to the 4 hours a day commuting that i no longer even realized what it was doing to me. surely, we can grow used to anything. and i am certainly living testament to what a human can habituate to. i could list over a dozen situations in my past where no sane person could stomach living in such a way. and yet, i did. and that is who i am and where i've been. well, any person with a similar history will tell you: just because you can adapt to something does not mean it does not extract a toll. there is a high cost to such adaptation, specifics dependent upon the particular situation. and part of that adaptation is no longer seeing, objectively, what the cost is. that is part of staying sane throughout.
my home had become a place to let my body collapse in between commutes. i got home at seven, if i left work ight at five pm. i had barely eaten, checked my email and kicked off my shoes before i was approaching time to sleep. once i had watched the Daily Show, it was late for me. any time after ten pm i was still awake would cost me dearly in the morning, when my 6:15 alarm rang. i would wake up exhausted, in the near darkness, stumble into the shower. if i did not hit all my stations (shave, teeth, find socks, get pants, grab bag, check that i had my phone, wallet, necklace, chapstick, subway card, newspaper money, coffee money, keys) or if i tarried too long at any one checkpoint, this would build my stress level. i had to be out the door at 7 am. and every minute past that meant a faster walk, a higher level of anxiety for me, trying to catch all the right trains.
my schedule (was):
-leave work by 5 pm
-GCS by 6 pm
-on 6 train by 6:10
-transfer to F by 6:30 or so
-home by 7 pm
-in bed by 11, some nights by 12, although that would hurt in the morning
-up at 6:15, 6:30 on "leisurely" days
-out of front door by 7 am
-at church ave stop and on F train by 7:15
-at bleecker st and on 6 train by 7:45
-at Grand Central Station by 8 am
-at Starbucks in GCS by 8:05 am
-on Metronorth train by 8:10
-then it was out at the Irvington stop (if you sleep, make sure you wake up at the right stop), on to the Korean deli for my breakfast, and then to work by 9:20 am. anyone who has commuted, or who has even visited GCS knows what kind of stress that is, in and of itself.
since i moved?
i get up in the morning, walk around the house before work. i wake up before my alarm even goes off. i stroll into the kitchen to see the light coming over the houses at the end of my yard. i don't need to worry if my roommate or his guests are in the bathroom, or if my roommate has left plant dirt, cat litter or any other crud on the floor of the bathtub. i don't need to worry about a roommate being in the closet-sized kitchen, who may be cooking strange-smelling nuggets that he will later leave soaking in the filthy sink. my kitchen is large, bright, and has recessed ceiling lights. there is no cat litterbox in there, either.
this morning i pulled out an old simon and garfunkel album and put it on the turntable. i let my bare toes wiggle into the rug. i heated up some hot cocoa. i sat at the computer for a while. i lit some herbal offerings to the gods of the hudson, opened the shades, unpacked a few more things, watched the sun's slow ascent.