see as i saw

What did I ever do when there wasn't technology to aid me on the fly?

On today's journey back to Chicago alone, I managed to confirm that the Bears were playing Monday Night Football (meaning Lake Shore Drive was a safe route to take) and circumvented a likely half hour traffic jam.  While other drivers were joining the virtual parking lot on the Dan Ryan, thanks to the general public's ineptitude for merging, I exited to I-94 local and swept right past.

Google Maps saves sanity.  I would think that owners of a shiny new iPhone are envious of my outdated Android OS and it's functional mapping capabilities.  Did you see that Google Maps now gives you underwater mapping for various reefs?  I digress.

On an average day, I walk down the street tracking buses, determining if the 156 is coming soon or if it's worth walking two more blocks to get on a 22.

When I'm waiting in line at Starbucks, I can check my Gold Card balance (awarded to people who give Starbucks too much money) and even re-up my funds before I reach the register.

Instead of lugging around a 500-page book every day for my commute, it's simply stored in my 4.77 ounce handset.  Honestly, this blog wouldn't be executed as planned without the constant companion of my phone's camera.  Sometimes I wonder if I should nix the idea of a dSLR, just because I'm now so accustomed to the convenience factor of wandering anywhere with merely a phone in my pocket.

It's amazing how wrapped up my life (and many others') is in this technology that I couldn't even conceived of ten years ago.  Amazing, yet a little frightening.  At least I always have those once or twice a year breaks, thanks to international travel without an international phone plan.

There's something about East Lansing, Michigan.  Despite chalking up a loss, I loved being on campus and spending those three hours inside Spartan Stadium.  Two years between visits is much too long.

I spent a little time waxing nostalgic, finding comfort in the familiarity and minimally changed environs.  Then I spent a lot of time feeling old.  College kids look so young and their conversations are on such a different plane.  And all I could do was shake my head at how identically nearly every female dressed.

The staple fashion item is black leggings.  If you're really sassy, they're made of that shiny black "look at me" lycra (although, skintight leggings already yell for attention).  Since we're at a crossroads of seasons, your footwear options are twofold: Sperry's or riding boots.  Don't forget to wear a tiny tee, bare midriff optional.

Maybe it's the sense of community and camaraderie that I feel among a group of people with a shared passion.  Perhaps it's the nearly six years of my life spent there.  Regardless, being in that atmosphere almost makes me want to reconsider that PhD notion.  There's something tempting about spending time in the collegiate world.

Then I remember that I'm five to ten years older than the majority of the population, and there isn't really much to do in East Lansing outside of that social sphere.  Sure, I could go to another university in a more diverse city.  The odds just seem slim that I would find myself quite so devoted and passionate.

Instead I'll follow the same path as many other alumni, trekking back to East Lansing when I can to revel in the sea of green and white.  There's a chance that I'll make it back one more time this season, for the Homecoming game.  I suppose that would be an acceptable make good for missing last year completely.

What I'm learning at my new job: clients renew monthly and quarterly.  This week was the end of a month and a quarter.  That makes my life insanely busy.  So, I have to bring a little work home with me this weekend.  Once I get over the hump in the learning curve, I'm thinking that will be less likely.

This was also supposed to be my one low-key, do nothing weekend after three weeks of traveling and before three more of the same.  Well, that changed when I made an impromptu road trip to Michigan after work.  The opportunity cost of trading in my chill at home weekend is completely worth it though.  You'll get the picture tomorrow, literally and figuratively.

The drive into Michigan wasn't quite as bad as I expected after last weekend's traffic jams and rain storms.  To further entertain myself, I whipped out the archaic CD case from my trunk and played a little soundtrack roulette.  It's a simple game whereby I flip blindly to a page, pull out a CD without looking, and insert it into the CD player.

I ended up with Celine Dion's Greatest Hits (I beg to differ with the titling; I didn't know at least half of the songs).  It's probably a good thing no one else was present for that singalong session.  Then I segued to a burned CD of country hits circa 2002.  That one didn't end up back in the archives, it'll stay in my rotation.

Something about coming to, being in, and leaving Michigan just puts me in country music mode.  It's like I go full rural once I get here.

 I have a tendency to use the phrase "nerding out" with relative frequency.  Today it was used in conjunction with the categories of words and Excel formulas.

One of my co-workers developed an affinity for the word "evangelism" in the past 24 hours, and it became fodder for office conversation.  Clearly this seemed like a relevant time to share my favorite word.  Sesquipedalian.  It's quite apropos; feel free to look up the definition and you'll see why.

Then it also seemed relevant to share my word find of the week, thanks to Catch-22: avuncular.  There are very few occasions that I would have a purpose for this word, but I'm determined to find at least one.  Although, no one will be likely to follow my train of thought since it's not exactly one the 1,000 most used words in the English language.

After a morning of word nerding, it was time to dig into Excel.  Granted, I've been seeking new formulas for stats analysis over the past four weeks.  Today just happened to be filled with "vlookup", pivot tables and "concatenate" formulas.  There's also an "isna" formula that's become my close friend.  I can't help it, Excel formulas are like my own nerdy form of digital magic.

I love and embrace my nerdiness; it probably makes sense that I end up working in tech start-up environments.

At times throughout the past nine months, I mentally step outside of myself and look at my life.  I find that I'm amazed at the some of the things I've done, the places I've ended up, and the ways that I've opened my mind.  For so long I lived pretty tidily inside the lines.  I wish I would've realized that life is so much more interesting if you increase the area between those lines.

Some things that are constantly reinforced in my life: surprises are lurking everywhere and the past seems incapable of staying history.  I'm purposely going to leave this declaration in a relatively enigmatic state.  I swear that I make an effort to live a relatively unassuming and non-dramatic life, but it's worth noting that this diminishes none of the aforementioned enigmas.

In other news, my morning commute took an hour today.  One culprit was a little friendly morning road work on a main thoroughfare, and confused drivers with limited mental capabilities for understanding the concept of merging.

But in a freakier twist of events, a standing passenger fainted in the bus aisle and we spent fifteen minutes awaiting medical attention.  She regained consciousness quickly and, besides being a little disoriented and woozy, seemed like she'd be fine.  What struck me about the whole event was how quickly and automatically the passengers immediately surrounding her snapped to action.

One girl noticed the glazed look in her eyes and started to support her before she was even in full faint.  Another girl bore the body weight from the other side, while a guy moved her feet from under her to get her into a seated position on the floor.  As she started coming to, a guy was already on the phone with 911 and an unopened bottle of water was summoned forth.  As the minutes passed waiting for the medics, she was offered a seat, some granola, and a general outpouring of concern.

Although 90% of the passengers quickly removed themselves from the bus as soon as they realized we were stopping, there was a core who was more concerned about the well-being of a human being that getting to work by 9:00.  The girl sitting behind me even started her conference call from her cell phone on the bus.  And I bet no one on the other end had scathing retorts when she explained why.

I felt reassured about humanity this morning.  About my generation.  A small group of 20-somethings sprang to immediate action.  There was no by-stander effect.  And there was genuine compassion.  Kudos to all of those class-act individuals.  I'm proud to have shared a morning commute with you.

I think that I've known for most of my life that truly great friends are difficult to come by, but also that they're the ones worth putting in the effort to find and keep.  Over time, I've seen that people have differing definitions of friendship.  For me, it's pretty cut and dry.

The people that I want close to me don't have to be exactly like me.  Our personalities can be distinctly different.  Most of our interests can lie at varying ends of the spectrum.  At the end of the day, though, differences aren't nearly as strong as the innate connection.

If your pain makes my gut wrench, or your good fortune brings a smile to my face, then we are on the same page where it really matters.  If we can be bluntly honest with one another and it leads to productive solutions instead of drama, there's a true and trustworthy foundation there.  If you manage to find some of my quirks to be assets, you're clearly a keeper!

Some of these people are present nearly every day in my life, some regularly bob in and out, and others may fade out for longer periods.  Ultimately, I've realized that these are my people, the friends whom I want to be there for despite time, distance, weather conditions, whatever the obstacles may be.  I'm much less interested in surface-level acquaintanceships.

 Today was a day of final goodbyes.  For the last time, I made my way to my great aunt's house for a very cozy and personal memorial service.  It was her wish that her physical being remains with those of her deceased husband and son, spread among the places she loved most - the woods and gardens where she fed the birds, watched the squirrels, strolled among the trees, and wrote her poetry.

Each of us were given the option to take a small portion of ashes and bring my aunt to rest with the nature she loved.  While everyone else stayed within the yard and gardens, I pushed my way through pine boughs, sinking into the soft carpet of their needles, seeking a place where the din of domestic life faded away.  The woods were filled with remnants of the many years that they spent on the property.  Discarded tires, old well pumps, moss covered wooden ladders and saw horses.

I said my goodbye not only to my aunt, but to a place that seems unchanged over the years.  The vintage touches were innately her and remained through the decades.  This means that I remember all of them from my childhood.  They were unique and memorable even then.  The garden in the front room with all of it's faux birds, rubber spiders, and cherub fountains was already removed when I arrived today.

It's difficult to believe that piece by piece everything will be dispersed, and all that remains are the few physical pieces that each of us will retain and the memories that grow more distant.

Here's a short story for you.  Once upon a time, I returned to the world of full-time employment.  Even before re-establishing this financial stability, I was tentatively planning a trip to Croatia in the autumn of 2013.  But that's beginning to feel too distant.

It doesn't help that I know several people who are going to cool places and doing fun things right now.  And maybe I was spurred on by my exploratory stint in NYC.

Ultimately, I've started thinking about a little spring fling.  Maybe a way to ring in my final year as a twenty-something (whoa, I'm almost old).  Although I'd be more than happy to have some company on whatever international jaunt that occurs, I'm at ease with flying solo again too.

For a solo adventure, there's a 100% chance that I'll end up in a Spanish-speaking country - likely Ecuador.  If someone joins me, I'm open to discussion.  Let's just go somewhere, eat, drink, be merry, and appreciate a cultural experience that varies from our every day.

Until then, I suppose a few domestic journeys to Michigan (and 24 hours in San Antonio) will have to suffice, though I know that they won't quite satisfy my wanderlust in the same way.

First, I'd like to allow myself to nerd out for a second.  I don't look at the stats section of my blog very often, but I glanced at it tonight.  It turns out that three of my titles have been search terms that led to page views at one point.

The first one was "stage lights shining"; admittedly not my finest photo, but I was intrigued when I saw that my post was fifth in Google search results for that phrase.

Another title was "agua de pipa", from my Costa Rica days (le sigh, those were the days).  Apparently someone was hunting down real coconut water in Chicago Heights.

But the one that really put me over the top was "ode to andy roddick", where I show up fourth in Google search results.  I like to think that, in some small way, my dedication to Andy Roddick's career is relevant.

Anyway, I digress.  Before those discoveries, my intention was actually to digress on how I haven't even finished the introduction to "Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World That Can't Stop Talking" and I already find myself nodding emphatically while I read.  This isn't my first post on introversion and, while reading this book, it likely won't be my last.

Maybe this never happened to you in pre-college school days, but it was a recurring admonishment from my teachers.  During parent-teacher conferences they'd always tell my parents how bright I was, but would frown upon the fact that I never volunteered in class.  This happened from elementary school right through graduation.

The fact of the matter is that I almost always knew the answers.  And I'd answer the questions in my own head.  I just rarely felt the urge to speak aloud, generally only when everyone else was so far off base that I began to get frustrated.

I was performing well, sometimes nearly perfect, in classes.  I wasn't socially inept.  So why did it matter if I raised my hand and proved that I could speak answers as well as I wrote them?  This is a classic trait of introverts.  And schooling is one of the areas in life where the author states that the "extrovert ideal" has taken over.

Something that I found interesting in graduate school, where a large proportion of the class derived from Asia, was the cultural difference in introversion and extroversion.  I vividly remember a conversation with one of my Korean classmates about how raising your hand and volunteering in class was considered brown-nosing when they were growing up.  Quiet intelligence and leadership were more highly respected.

It's no secret to me that I'm an introvert, and most days I'm quite comfortable with that.  But it is eye-opening to read a book from the perspective of how powerful and impactful introverts are in society.  Instead of striving to meet the extrovert ideal, there are reasons to embrace being an introvert.

Technically, I've successfully closed my first week of life back in the Loop.  No, it's not Friday.  Yes, I have the option to work from home on Fridays.  I haven't quite decided what I'm most excited  about with this option.

Sleeping later.  Working in pajamas.  Having a personal Skype session during lunch.  Not having to pack a lunch.  Windows open and fresh air.  No commuting.  Going for a run whenever I'm ready.

That last one is kind of key, at least tomorrow.  Although I was walking many miles every day in New York, in my Chicago adjustment phase I've only managed to run once this week.  And there are way too many opportunities to eat when you work in an office with three men and your company supplies food.

In other good news, apparently there's a gym in the basement of our building (directly below my photo's vantage point) and all tenants have access.  It's so easy to let myself hibernate in the winter, because I'm not particularly fond of winter runs...or paying for overpriced gym memberships.  With such convenience of just going to the basement, I assume that I can be at least moderately successful in maintaining a workout schedule.

Honestly, it's getting more difficult to come up with something to say every day.  I didn't realize how much bandwidth my brain had for extra-curricular thinking when it was unemployed.  In the past three weeks, my social media access has dwindled and my visits to Pinterest have clocked in at zero.  I'm still managing to read books every day, but articles and blogs have fallen by the wayside.

Maybe it's just a readjustment period, since my information intake is so great every day I don't have the capacity to take on outside pondering.  So far I haven't even managed to get 50% caught up with my DVR.  And it looks like I'll be spending three of the next four weekends traveling, again.  How did I possibly develop such a busy life after eight months of going with the flow?

It's funny though, I've been through enough life changes to realize that a few months from now, everything that's pushing and pulling me now will come to feel like routine.  Despite how different my new office life is different from my unemployed life, or even my old office life, it'll start to feel like I've never been anywhere else.

Is it unusual to have a love/hate relationship with surprises?  When someone utters the phrase "I have a surprise for you", my mind is torn into two reactions.  At my core, I automatically begin worrying that I'll dislike or remain neutral to the surprise.  Since I'm virtually incapable of feigning excitement (a.k.a. lying), I'll end up inadvertently offending the surprise giver.  So before I've even experienced the surprise, I'm preparing how to make amends for my potentially offensive reaction.

Battling with that thought is a penchant to hold out a slender hope that the surprise will be amazing.  My mind starts to run away with possibilities, but my pragmatism always wins out, scratching each idea nearly immediately.  This leaves me with a vague sense of hoping for the best, but planning to be underwhelmed.  Maybe that's my personal mechanism of "under promise, over deliver".

There is a third point on the surprise continuum: the absolute surprise.  The kind that isn't promoted or hinted at beforehand.  It nixes the hang time that allows overanalysis, so the reactions will be truly genuine responses to the unexpected.  Of course, when you're known to process before reacting and are capable of being non-emotive, you still face a potential need to diffuse the situation.

Surprises are stressful.  They just happen to be a little less stressful when you don't preface them.  Yet somehow I'm still in favor of being surprised.  I do have a tendency to smell surprise in the air though, so I'm still waiting on an absolute surprise in my life.

Don't worry if you're confused.  I just wrote all of that and I'm still unsure of my own verdict on surprises.

First day in the Chicago office and this is where it begins to feel like I work for a start-up.  Three guys, a girl, and a mini fridge.  Before I even had my computer open, I was rallying to get a Keurig.  That request has been made to the powers that be (although I'm not entirely sure who "they" are).

An hour after my arrival, I was waiting on keys to both the office and the women's restroom.  It's a tenuous wait realizing that, should nature call, your best options are to hope another woman is heading in that direction (keep in mind that I only work with men) or heading down the block to Cosi.

In what was possibly a modern day miracle, by lunch time I had keys, a shelf and a wall installed at my desk, and had accomplished some real work.  Granted, a shipping error meant that I was still missing a monitor, keyboard and mouse, but there was Fresca in the fridge as a reparation.

I may have returned to the working world, but it feels nothing like the office routine that I've cycled through in the past.  And that seems to be a good thing.  It's only been one day in my new Chicago digs, but instead of heading for a rut it feels like I'm getting into a groove.  There's somehow both a minor and a distinct difference between the two.

It's difficult to believe, as I sit on my own couch for the first time in two weeks, that merely five hours ago I was in New York.  As my time wound down, clearly there was no way that I had seen all of the city.  So, Sunday was devoted to a single priority, the Brooklyn Bridge.  Anything else that I fit in would be bonus...I ended up with a lot of bonuses.

First of all, I started my morning with a battle of the bagels.  Yesterday's H&H Bagel versus today's Brooklyn Bagel.  H&H hands down, in case you happen to be in NYC bagel hunting.  I hopped a C train to Brooklyn, leisurely ate a bagel the size of my head on a quiet park bench (you can find those in Brooklyn, I guess), then strolled across the Brooklyn Bridge.
The city views are great, the structure of the bridge itself is amazing, and starting the walk from Brooklyn was genius.  It wasn't until I was nearly into Manhattan again that the glut of tourists was upon me.  By then, I was already done and moving on.

Then it was time to do what I do best, wander.  This is where the bonuses racked up.  I quickly threaded through lower Manhattan, passing the World Trade Center area (obviously packed with tourists) and the financial district (heavily secured, thanks to Occupy).  A mile up Broadway brought me to Canal Street/Chinatown and enterprising folks trying to entice you to follow them for a selection of "Prada, Louis, Gucci".  Not my scene, moving on.

As it happened, the entirety of Little Italy was a giant street festival.  I inched up five blocks, single file, with cannolis, pizzas, and assorted meats staring me in the face.  Tempting, but overwhelming. It felt like time for some R&R and people watching.  Another mile, through SoHo, brought me to Washington Square.
Somehow I managed to get entrenched in an hour and half conversation with the guy on the bench next to me.  It all began when he, a New Yorker, mistakenly assumed me to be a New Yorker as well.  Assimilation took less than two weeks.  From there, we discussed the obvious: college, sports, jobs, favorite places in the city.  And then things got delightfully pretentious, debating the value and classification of modern art.  You know the merits of Renoir versus Pollock, how people mistakenly find Degas' ballerinas beautiful, the richness of the colors in a Seurat.

Alas, it was time to return to the Holiday Inn and retrieve my bags.  The Windy City was calling.  I'm glad to be here, excited to return to life in the Loop tomorrow.  My morning crossover from Brooklyn and my afternoon in Washington Square created a perfect end cap to my NYC adventure though.  (I swear posts will get shorter again as I return to my standard life.)

As I get older, I find myself becoming more and less risk averse.  No, I didn't mean to say "more or less" and, no, that is not circular logic.  Fears operate on a sliding scale.  The manner in which you commence through life stages and events dictates whether your levels rise or fall.

I've always been independent, but I find that willingness to court risks in this arena is high across the board.  Clearly I'm more than happy to travel outside of my comfort zone, whether it's domestic, international, or merely a new neighborhood in Chicago.  Going alone no longer phases me.  I got in some good test drives while traveling for business, then sort of went straight for the main event with my solo endeavor in Costa Rica.  And heading out for a long period of time, while not always idea, isn't the end of the world.

That's where the line starts to blur.  Permanent relocation to a new land, domestic or international, makes me more squeamish as I get older.  Starting over takes patience and a lot of effort.  As I start to sink comfortably into the people and places that I know, there's less drive to reinvent my life every few years (something I notoriously yearned for in my college days and early/mid-twenties).

Which leads me to another fear, social fear.  The desire to want to meet new people laced with the fear of imposing your slightly awkward/quirky self on them.  I'm still pretty hopeless in a large social setting dominated by people I don't know.  Therefore, moving to a new city solo is a rather daunting task.  With age, I also find friendship to be a trickier path to forge, because you have to navigate the husband/wife/children inclusions.

In a slightly oxymoronic way, I have checked my fear at the door when it comes to one-on-one interaction with someone I've never met.  There are many instances, especially in 2012, where this new level of openness has been fortuitous and/or valuable.  Maybe those events have piggybacked on one another to mitigate my fear.

Some risks seem to feel augmented with maturity and concern for my health or life.  I'm positive that my average speed limit has decreased over the past ten years.  Alcohol intake is generally mild to moderate.  My nighttime awareness on city streets and public transit is very attuned.  Cheap thrills, like skydiving and roller coasters, seem less appealing and more dangerous.

While other risks just seem to become laughable or negligible.  Trying new foods is unlikely to cause any lasting harm or cost me much, either in monetary or non-monetary terms.  Hence, I've taste-tested sushi twice in the past week.  (Verdict is still out.)  Asking questions turns out to be a pretty common activity that most people don't judge you over.  And trial and error seems to be a much quicker way to mount the learning curve.  As it turns out, the errors are rarely life shattering and people don't begrudge you for them.

Instead of going straight to my hotel room after work, I have a tendency to wander.  Today I made my way over to Chelsea Market, which seems to be popular among both the tourist and resident types.  I'm not a huge foodie, but from what I could gather this place is chock full of gourmet and specialty food stands and marketplaces.  I snagged a brownie for a $1.50 and called it a day.

My main interest, per usual, was taking in my surroundings and finding photo ops.  Since the market is housed in a renovated warehouse space, there was definitely a uniquely modern and historic mix of styles.  Ah, yes, contrast.

Many thanks to Yelp for existing and allowing me to find small, hole-in-the-wall joints to buy a NY cheddar grilled cheese and avocado sandwich.  And if my brownie and grilled cheese weren't enough, my hotel bar was offering $4 glasses of pinot noir for happy hour.


So despite being in NYC, where prices can be notoriously high, I managed to piece together a delightful concoction of comfort foods (and drink) for $13.50.  Not too shabby.


Plans are already under way for my Saturday wander.  I'm thinking it will be an Uptown kind of day, since I've really only ever spent time in Midtown or Downtown.

P.S. Despite my NYC love affair, I'm feeling homesick for Chicago.  I miss my friends.  And making my own dinner at home.  And my pillow, I can't wait to get back to my pillow.

 Chicago is going to be upset with me, I'm having a small love affair with New York.  Tonight I meandered into Chelsea with a mission to check out the High Line, a public park constructed atop an old, elevated freight line.

The concept sounded unique, so I thought maybe I'd walk a few blocks, sit for awhile, take a few pictures.  As soon as I alighted from the steps, the ambiance was distinctly different from street level.  I had no doubt that I would be in love, because it possessed my favorite subject: juxtaposition.

It was a green space, a congregation of people moving at a relaxed pace or merely lounging, defined by quiet conversations and solo venturers.  Yet, it's generally no more than five yards from rail to rail, and the city is thrumming along as usual just below.  Manhattan still towers over you to the east and the lights of New Jersey illuminate the west.  Somehow, even surrounded by all of that steel, glass and light, the atmosphere feels idyllic.

And they've somehow managed to provide unique assets to different expanses of the walkway.  There's an area of lawn, various unique lookout points with rows of seating, benches placed within extremely shallow running water.  A stretch of loungers is featured just outside of a pseudo food court, which is housed in a section of building with the walls blown out.  Sometimes your view is dominated by brick walls, then it opens to a street view, and suddenly you're on a narrow path surrounded by plant life.

The variety and contrasts never got old.  Before I knew it, I was at the southernmost point of the park.  Heading back, I was entranced enough to miss my exit point and end up at the far north end.  About 3.5 miles later, I finally arrived back at my hotel.

I know that NYC overflows with restaurants and bars, many of which are well-suited to impress a date.  My perfect man would stake out a spot on the High Line, grab a bottle of pinot noir and a few tasty things to nosh on.  If you happen to know that guy, let me know.

As soon as I realized that I would be in New York City when 9/11 approached, I found myself wondering if there would be any relevant impact.  Unexpectedly, I saw/heard more about the remembrance of this day on my Facebook feed than I did in the city.  Although I'm sure there were crowds around Ground Zero, the rest of the city felt like business as usual.

At first this struck me as odd.  I wondered why the city wasn't more effusive in its remembrance and memorial.  It finally occurred to me that the city's coping mechanism is much like my own.  When emotions become strong enough, it's easier to keep them close and internal while focusing on life as usual.

Despite the number of people involved in and personally touched by the events of that day, I wasn't directly connected to any of them.  I can't pretend to know the extent of the anguish, grief and fear.  But I do keep going back to July 7, 2005, a day where terrorism was a little too close for comfort in my own life.

Although I was relatively sure of my safety, despite my proximity to the London bombings, I didn't initially take into consideration how my family must have felt.  The phones kept ringing.  They had no idea of my daily routines or my current whereabouts.

As I've gotten older, I've had a deepening sense of how suddenly life can change and how unsure we are of the possible events that will occur at any moment.  The best thing we can do is try to continually move toward the place we want to be with the people who are worth everything to us.  Live, love, and appreciate it all.  Move toward the meaningful and cut out the bull.

...you buy overpriced gourmet ice cream from a truck.  The Big Gay Ice Cream truck.  I joined a few ladies from my office for an afternoon jaunt to a warehouse sale, then we stopped to ourselves some Salty Pimps.  Oh, I am definitely in New York.

To be clear, you're missing out if you've never had a Salty Pimp.  Vanilla ice cream, dulce de leche, sea salt, chocolate dipped, in a cone.

After work, I made my way back to Madison Square Park to watch the remainder of the US Open final with a few hundred other fans.  Despite their errant support for Andy Murray, and his ultimate victory, I can't help but revel in being surrounded by truly invested tennis fans.

It also just occurred to me today that two weeks is kind of a long time.  It's 50% of the time that I spent in Costa Rica.  Maybe it's because New York isn't international and I have the ability to see a few people that I know, but it hardly phased me to know I was leaving for two weeks.  And I've also embraced the unknown that this two weeks presents, making me more curious than anxious.

I have to remember to take a few moments and appreciate what I'm packing into this period.  Learning, exploring, taking chances, building bridges, making decisions...growing up, I suppose.

Green space in NYC is one of those areas where I notice a major disparity compared to life in Chicago.  Obviously they have Central Park.  That aside, there are "parks" dispersed throughout city blocks, generally containing a plot of grass, a fountain, and side-by-side benches flanking the perimeter.

In Chicago, all of the parks are of a size considerable enough to throw a ball for your dog.  Or spread yourself across the grass without being so near to another person that you hear them chewing.  And maybe we take this green space for granted.  By "we", I'm mainly referring to myself.

I grew up in a relatively rural setting.  My childhood home had its own sports field, for all intensive purposes, as well as woods and fields rife with opportunities for exploration.  The natural world was never in short supply.  Then I moved to the city, and even in the green spaces you still feel the veil of urban life.  Noises, smells, the inevitable markings of urban infrastructure.

But now I find myself in Manhattan, watching people crowd onto benches and revel in the nature of shrubs and domesticated squirrels (I actually saw someone hand-feeding one).  Suddenly, I realize that Chicago's natural spaces bring more to the table than I gave them credit for.

An urban green space will never live up to an autumn walk in the Michigan woods; the leaves transformed into an array of warm hues, the crisp air accenting the earthy smells, and the soundtrack of rustling branches and the birds that call them home.  But I can appreciate Chicagoan parks for the unlikely level of respite that they do provide in a city setting.

 Since my parents moved hours away from where I spent my childhood and adolescence, I don't come to my hometown that often.  When I do, there's a strange sensation of feeling far removed and like I never left at all.

When I drive down what has always been the main hub of town, things couldn't look more unfamiliar.  What once was a truck stop is now a Meijer.  Where there used to be empty land, they've packed in a Wal-Mart.  Stores and restaurants with corporate governance now reside where local businesses or nothing at all used to stand.

But when I started winding down the dirt roads, connecting one familiar stomping ground to another, the comfort returns.  When I'm noshing on the best donuts known to man, they taste as wonderful as I remember them when I was five years old.  There's a well-worn ease in sitting around the living room with three of the people that have known you best, despite the time and distance that makes these occasions rare.

As much as I've never been one to think longingly back to high school days, I walked away from this wedding reception with a far less sour taste for that era than I have been carrying around for ten years. I forget what it's like to be around an entire group of people that know each others' pasts, spending nearly every day in the same general surroundings and events.  I suppose I enjoyed waxing nostalgic a little bit.

There's still no chance that I want to move back to the same realm where I grew up.  But an occasional reminder of where I came from and the building blocks of my adolescence proved to be welcomed.

 Having a full-time poses a potential to halt some of the practices and routines that I've developed in the past eight months. Conversely, having a job allows me to return to several things that were sacrificed in my sans paycheck days.

One of the missions that I want to focus on adopting permanently is being open-minded. That means trying new things and saying yes to opportunities and possibilities. You never know where a path will lead you or the things you will learn by taking that chance.

Taking this job was a chance, although a calculated one. Spending two weeks in New York, a highly unfamiliar city, is an experience. Going to the US Open, even alone and only for 35 minutes of a match, was an irreplaceable opportunity.

These are considerable 'yes' situations, but they don't eliminate the need to focus on expanding my day-to-day life. In fact, while the big events may be more newsworthy, the tweaks to daily life are forging my character and leading me to the big events.

Today I dipped my toes in the water. (This is an intended pun, are you ready for it?) I tried sushi. When in New York, and the company supplies you with a risk-free catered opportunity, might as well.

Then, of course, there's the common (yet still slightly frightening) concept of injecting myself into situations where I meet new people. Group endeavors still tend to leave me people watching from the outskirts, but I make an effort to incorporate those situations on occasion. What I'm getting better at is one-on-ones, whether it's small talk with a stranger, meeting up with a friend of a friend, or playing tour guide for my brother's boss.

 Yes, I know, I've been a neglectful parent to this blog baby of mine.  Although I had the photo and the content idea all mentally mapped out, the actual execution just didn't come to fruition.  Can I be extended a pardon, though?  Based on extenuating circumstances, such as day three of a new job?


I'd like to see you learn about writing xpath, optimizing for CPCs, and figuring out where the permalink goes in the nano code...then coming "home" to your hotel room to blog.  Yeah, that's right.    And I may have, ahem, had other priorities.  Moving on.  So today is going to be a joint post, melding yesterday's topic with additional thoughts I ruminated on today.


Even though the majority of my hours in New York have been spent working, I'm still enjoying learning the little things about life here.  When I travel, I generally make an effort to put myself in a local's shoes instead of waltzing around from one tourist destination to the next.  If I wasn't living in a hotel, I think that my daily routine here might actually make me feel like a local.

To that end, I've actually been buying several of my dinners from the food bars at Whole Foods (conveniently located two blocks away).  The check-out lines are long during the evening commute hours, but space is limited.  So here's what I learned as I went along.

There are 30 registers, two rows of fifteen facing one another and separated by a single aisle.  There are three lines of customers, each assigned a color.  A monitor at the front of the line coordinates - blue, yellow, green.  When a register opens, the number flashes on the monitor within one of the colored boxes.  Whomever is in that line scuttles over to that register.  For some reason it feels like a game every time I do it.

And maybe it's the just the US Open coloring my opinions, but I'm kind of loving New York.  I never imagined it as a city I would be comfortable living in, but after even three days I'm starting to reconsider.  Today I walked home from work, down 5th Avenue, and walked to the north end of Madison Square Park.  Because in New York, they do things like set up a jumbo screen in the park with a feed of the US Open.  And people actually gather to watch it.  You know what else?  They're seriously engaged, applauding and cheering after points.

I'm not saying that it's time to head out of Chicago, but I'll be happy to spend more time in New York City - both during the remainder of my training period and in the future.

 I was so close to a dream come true, my idea of an ideal night and a possible perfect ending.

When Andy Roddick won his third round match, I was just excited by the prospect of being in the stadium for the next round.  As I kept my eye on the weather reports each day, it wasn't promising.  But after work today, it looked like the front would pass and maybe we'd sneak in some tennis before another one arrived.  Worst case scenario, I'd waste some time trekking out to Queens.

Here's where things got interesting.  I took the 1 up to Times Square, where I was supposed to transfer to the 7 Express.  I got a little perplexed by the signage telling me that 7 trains were coming on both tracks.  Not wanting to end up opposite of my destination (I later realized that Times Square was the beginning of the route and there was only one direction to go), I engaged in an activity that I spurn - asking directions, essentially.  There was a woman next to me who seemed like a good candidate, but it turned out she was about as knowledgable as me.

I finally figured out that a diamond signified "express" and a circle meant "local".  So I ushered us both onto the subway.  For some reason, I decided to play out of character again and started small talk with this woman.  Maybe it was just because I was bubbling over with enthusiasm about the US Open.

When we were a few stops away from our destination, my new transit partner called her friends to let them know she was almost there.  I immediately discerned from her response that her friends had decided not to go.  After telling them not to worry multiple times, she hung up and gave me the rundown.

She wasn't interested in going alone, tennis was their passion and she was just along for the ride.  But she had tickets waiting at will call.  And after asking me if I had good seats (clearly the answer was no), she volunteered hers to me.  In the blink of an eye, I was bequeathed two tickets in courtside reserved seating.

Honestly, I could barely stand or think straight.  I wandered aimlessly into the tennis center, unable to focus.  So I set myself on a mission to eat something and snap to it.  Then I made my way into Arthur Ashe Stadium, nine rows up from the court, and it was more amazing than anything I ever dreamed of.  I had a seat next to a guy who would become another small talk buddy and later buy me a drink during the rain suspension.

I could already wax nostalgic about how amazing every detail was, except for one, the fact that the match got canceled at the start of the first set tiebreak.  My perfection was only destined to last 35 minutes.  So, it was a partial dream come true.

After the match was canceled, I was still hesitant to leave the stadium.  It went by too quickly.  Then a worker started chatting with me, and as the center court lights shut off, we exited together.  He let me in on a secret about getting back to the city in twenty minutes instead of an hour and a half: the employee shuttle bus.  I just had to board with him and act like I knew what I was doing.  And it was free.  Sold.  So I headed back into Manhattan, chatting with Mohamed on an employee-sanctioned charter bus.

Despite the fact that nothing really went as planned, I can't be completely upset about my night.  Sure, I'll most likely miss the remainder of the Roddick/Del Potro match, and even if it starts late enough for me to watch it won't be live.  But I made it to the US Open, I sat in the most amazing seats, I saw my favorite player in person during his final days, and I had some unique experiences thanks to random people.  Plus, the match was canceled soon enough that I can trade in my ticket for one of equal value for the 2013 US Open.