Ending

spur of the moment, the last minute, no plans, any plans, the moon, the stars, every single star in the sky, shooting stars, white noise, no noise, crickets, the winding roads leading to somewhere--anywhere I haven't been, the swampy marshes, the darkest road i've ever driven on, 35,000 feet, the final approach, takeoff, butterflies, silliness, the first dance, the last dance, all the dances in between, the first and last page, the morning and the evening, the spaces in between, half-awake, staying awake, deciding to stay asleep, the first and the last kiss, long runs, short sprints, long sleeves, shorter shorts, freezing water, steamy outdoor showers, friday afternoon, monday morning, vodka sodas five too many, ice-cream cake, saltwater skin, rock sculptures, sand castles, the tears of joy, the tears of pain, the bittersweet life changes, the happenings, the excitement, the astonishment, the blessings, say hello and cry good-bye

One-Liners that Kill

While browsing the aisles of Circuit City yesterday I saw something which I immediately deemed quite silly: an armband for the iPod shuffle. Seems a bit...unnecessary, no? Or at the very least a little overkill? Then this conversation occurred via text with the only person on the planet who I knew would agree with me. And then I laughed so hard I almost got hit by the M3 bus while crossing the street.

Me: Doesn't the arm band for the shuffle seem a bit...dumb?
Friend: It does until you consider the number of people that exercise in the nude.

On Beauty

I spent this past weekend on a small island off the coast of northern Wisconsin on Lake Superior. It was, in a word, stunning. In two more: peaceful and serene. I'd not yet previously been to this particular great lake, but Michigan and Erie are marked off the list. I was elated to add this to the completed tasks on the list of things to see and do before I turn 30.

Wisconsin is beautiful. And big. And the sky, just like in nearby Minnesota is endless and this almost-unidentifiable shade of blue that we just don't get here in the city. The palette that mother nature has put together sometimes blows my mind. Its an explosion of colors onto a canvas untouched by man. A palette that seems unmatchable even with the help of a computer. There were moments that I felt like I had been picked up by my neck and plopped down into a fairytale land. That the place where I was couldn't be real; that places of such stunning beauty can't exist, not if I can't see them all the time without having to close my eyes.

One afternoon we took a lazy Sunday drive (on Saturday) through the woods and down dirt roads, the rocky shore of the lake as our only guide. We passed stretches of rocky beaches untouched and unreachable. Pine trees and birch trees together dotted the landscape and the sun peaked through offering tiny glimpses at the sky. We were under a canopy of green and blue and browns so rich that my eyes couldn't blink. And even though I know it does because I'm in the middle of it right now, at that moment I thought to myself that it is so hard to believe that a place like Manhattan can exist. That a place so opposite in comparison is the place I call home. But then I suppose, that's the beauty of it all, the push and the pull, the ying and the yang. Even more amazing, is that I am capable of finding beauty amongst this man-made concrete place so contrary in look and in feel. But today, as I continuously close my eyes to transport back to that blue-raspberry lollipop sky and crystal clear cold water, I'm having a much harder time than usual finding beauty in this place, this maze, this jungle.

Sea Legs

Even though there is no work right now, work has been the most stressful it's ever been. Ever. And that is no hyperbole. My boss announced yesterday that he is leaving. A few days before that, two other very important people left. And before that two more. It's been like the rush to get off the island before the biggest hurricane ever recorded hits land.

Now as I sit here, gently thumping my giant rubberband ball against my desk, I am contemplating whether or not to get in that line or to ride out the storm strapped to my desk with one big giant rubberband. I generally like my job. I am one of the lucky ones. One of the few. I like the people I work with. I love MY office (emphasis there on the word my). But that being said, I cannot react purely on impulse and emotion right now. I cannot react based on the fact that everyone else is doing it. I have to stay if not because someone has to pick up the slack, then because I need to do this for myself. I have to learn to make it through a transitional period without running away, because it's easier or because it's what I've done before. I need to become an amphibian, adaptable in any environment.

This happened at my old job as well. There was a slew of lay-offs and people quitting all in a matter of just a few weeks. The only difference was, at my old job, I was one of the ones waiting in line at the one-lane bridge to get off the island. And I got my turn. It was time to leave that job, time to move on to bigger and better projects, to a company that valued me as well as needed me. And because I ran from there to here to seek shelter from the storm, I will stay. For awhile at least. I will ride out this storm and see how strong my sea legs truly are.

Take THAT Ms. Moriesstte

It's been a little slow at work for the past few days, so to pass the time a few of my coworkers and I have taken to doing really dumb things, the dumbest perhaps of them all is building a rubberband ball. It's now spanned to a building contest amongst our department. Who can build the biggest ball by the end of the day; by the end of the week? Ours started out the way they all do about the size of a gumball, but in the past day or two has grown to about the size of a baseball.

Last night as I was shutting down my computer and getting ready to leave for the night, I realized that the box to my new camera had ripped and would no longer close on its own. I didn't want the contents to fall out on the commute home and break before I had even used it. I thought to myself: not a problem; I'll just throw a few rubberbands around it. It only took me about three seconds before I realized the giant flaw in my superb plan. I don't have any rubberbands left. Not in any of my drawers, shelves or cabinets. There is not one single lone rubberband to be found in my office.

That right there. That's irony.

The Beat Goes On

Coming back to the city after being away for even just a week is always sort of a weird feeling. On one hand, I'm always so anxious to return for the noise, the hustle, the whenever/whatever I want, I can have, the excitement of it all. New York is home; anywhere else falls short. But on the other hand, there's always a tiny part of me that doesn't want any of that. There's a part of me that longs for the lazy days on the beach, the huge dinners with my family gathered around the table, the mid-afternoon naps on the beach blanket, the simpleness of it all. The quiet. The inner peace.

While I do travel quite a bit, for some reason coming back to the city after the week at the beach is always the hardest. I don't know whether it's because it's like going from one extreme to the other: being surrounded by 18 people at all times in a huge beach house -- to sitting alone in my less-than-huge apartment, or if it's just because it signifies the end of something; the end of summer; the end of another year; the end of paid time off; the end of a tradition.

Unlike when I used to go on this same vacation in college or even high school, returning to NYC after a week away always bestows so many changes. There are usually so many changes it's almost hard to notice them all. It's quickly evident that the city kept on going at record pace. It's just like when I used to cut class back in high school and go "off campus" for lunch. Once I left the parking lot it was always like holy shit, in fact, life is going on while I spend my days sitting in class taking notes. I always remember thinking that it felt so liberating to leave school like that, to get a little preview of what the rest of the world was doing.

It's part of the deal when you agree to live here: do not get attached to anything. A week in NYC is the equivalent of a few months anywhere else. Where as change in my hometown takes a gradual and slow pace, it only takes a day for a restaurant to close here, a week for it to be replaced by something new, different, bigger, faster better, now with more sizzle. It only takes a few days for an entire Avenue's length of scaffolding to come down near my office that has stood there for over three years revealing an entire building that I've never even seen before. And apparently, it only takes a week for lots of people in my office to quit leaving everyone to wonder if it's time to jump ship too.

Midnight

My hair is sun-drenched with natural blond highlights from the sun and saltwater deluge of the past week, my skin the color of a roasted almond and my mind more clear than the water in which I floated in for hours upon end. The past week which is rich in tradition, was vaguely similar to the weeks of vacations past, yet vastly different all at once.

There was star gazing as there always is. Every year we seem to be at the beach during a huge meteor shower. After an hour of watching, you lose track of how many you've seen. It's wonderful. But this year, as the comets zoomed overhead I wasn't wishing for things I wanted, I was wishing for the things I have. I wasn't closing my eyes and wishing for true happiness, for true love or for health. I have all of those things and in good plenty. And I wish for nothing more; just for, I suppose, that these things to continue to grow, to evolve, to continue to amaze me with a fraction of surprise that each has individually brought to my life as they unfolded delicately, like silk upon my lap.

I can vividly remember the summer before my junior year in high school, watching a huge star with a long tail shoot over the ocean and making a wish that same very second. I remember this moment because just two weeks later, that wish came true. It honestly did. Looking back it was probably due to my own volition, but youth has a wonderful way of blacking out the obvious and fostering hopeful dreams. Ignorance is sometimes a filter I wish popped up more often in my adult years. That was the first time in my entire life that I wished for something and it actually came true. It was a stupid wish; I thought that then and still think that now. But it didn't matter. I wanted it. And it came true.

Nearly ten years later, as I sat there Friday night watching dozens of shooting stars fall from the sky, I realized that I didn't even need to make a wish; that everything I could possibly wish for, short of riches or fame, I have right now. And that realization was so much more fulfilling than the biggest star with the biggest tail shooting across the entire midnight sky.

Charging...

Living in this city depletes my batteries pretty quickly. Between just the general grind, commuting and dealing with everything this city sometimes throws your way, this past week has also been a barrage of emotions, good news and bad, moments where I wasn't sure what to say and moments where I could not put into words how I was feeling. That is a rare thing, for me to be-speechless, but the big moments are sometimes the ones where I try to be cautions with my words. My new little niece has me dumbfounded in so many ways but mostly in the way that I've suddenly taken on a huge love for her and all things baby. I never saw that coming. Never.

But in the midst of going baby crazy, of becoming an aunt and falling in love, there's also been moments of total devastation, the kind that rocks your world to the core. And this kind of rocking has me questioning my beliefs and envying those that have faith in something bigger and more powerful than any of us know. And I wonder, if a niece can change my view on babies and children and love, can this devastation change the way I feel about faith?

And while I'm sure the answers to this question won't come any time soon, it's certainly something that will keep my mind occupied while I'm laying on the beach for the next nine days recharging my badly drained batteries.