space

First of all, it's hard to imagine a time when the city of NewYork is ever as empty as the picture above portrays (and certainly outside of the realm to see a ballerina in tutu and toe shoes commanding an empty intersection—though that's something I'd love to see). Instead the rhythm of this city is dictated by ebb&flow and a kind of precise choreography that keeps pedestrians and all things with wheels in a constant motion, and with a lot less bangs, bumps and bruises than i would ever think possible. What I've learned from all this is how necessary it is to give in to the movement. Fighting it—whether physically or mentally—does no good whatsoever. This acceptance has been put to the test for me this week as every single subway ride i've taken to and from work and other locales has been slowed, stopped or stymied in some way or another (and it's only wednesday). So i've been faced with the question: what do I do when I'm stopped? There are many sayings&quotes from wise people observing in one way or another how it's the journey not the destination/that the grace by which you get there says everything, etc. etc. And while I most of the time believe that's true, my challenge comes with what goes on in the space of actual stoppage...not the movement itself, but the stock-stillness.

Back in the early-nineties, at a time when a musical form called grunge was about to rule the soundscape, I was in London to interview a band named Pearl Jam (old stories abound this week as my go-to place while staring at the back of a fellow commuter's head on a stalled A train is to put my iPod on shuffle, and, who-knew? the needle seems to be landing on many of my early musical interview subjects, which naturally brings stories to the surface). The group's publicist thought it would be an interesting juxtaposition to have me sit down and talk to them over tea at Harrods department store, an impossibly haughty place that served high tea every afternoon at two, complete with crustless cucumber sandwiches and freshly baked scones. Flannel meet frippery. As we rolled through the revolving door on our way into this rarefied atmosphere, we were stopped on the other side by a man wearing a red cape, a black top hat and a beautifully cut black suit who informed us less-ostentatiously dressed (well, at the very least we didn't have a top hat among us) that we'd need to leave the store for lack of acceptable attire. Turns out this caped crusader was the doorman...because that's a necessary human to have at a department store. The offer by the singer to buy a suit did not gain us admission. we were stopped, our (actually the publicist's) plan thwarted. What to do? we stood on the sidewalk motionless for a minute, then went down the street to a local pub, played a game of darts, had a few pints, and the stoppage became a great story told, the lead of my article and, eventually, a lyric written into one of their songs.

stasis. stucked-ness. sometimes imposed from without, sometimes imposed from within. the question: How can it make me stronger? I've stopped myself in all kinds of random ways in my head&heart. stopped believing i was strong enough. didn't think i was experienced enough. convinced i hadn't what it takes. And, rather than just standing still and noticing, i'd find myself tucking into a little tight ball and rolling into the corner, which affected my bed, my bank account, my book-writing. I aim to overcome this. As to the first mention on that list (somewhat metaphorically speaking, since that piece of furniture is a stand-in for the larger sense of my heart), I'm finally believing in my strength to receive and give to someone who I can be absolutely myself with. As to the second and third items, I'm putting extra attention toward taking myself seriously enough that they are satisfied as well.

I realized this week, after taking a class that pushed me hard to recover some strength I'd thought i'd lost, when i stop thinking i can't and just do, even knowing that i'll retain some bruises in the doing, that the pride that comes propels me forward. And naturally, because it never looks like I think it will, I'm surprised by the space that opens up inside of me to allow for more movement. to stop the traffic in my head, breathe the rarified air of my own opportunities, maybe even get the trains moving again...those would be the ones in my imagination.