Showing posts with label urban. Show all posts
One year ago on this date, I walked away from predictable and comfortable for an unplanned period of time. I've spent much of the past few weeks having those vivid reels of memory play through my mind. Mostly I flash back to Costa Rica. I relive scenery and conversations: glimpses of sunrise walks on the beach and rainforest canopies, soundbites of choppy Spanish conversation and Pacific waves. It's an involuntary but unstoppable brain activity imbued with a sense of fondness and longing.
I've spent a lot of hours pondering 'happiness' - discussing, reading, thinking. What I've come to conclude is that I can't think of happiness as an aggregate. So what exactly does that mean? There's no such thing as the perfect alignment of all circumstances and situations. This isn't Pleasantville. Life doesn't fit in a box. If we expect to attain perfection across all of life's myriad segments (career, home, love, family, etc.) at once, then we've only set ourselves up for a fall.
Looking at it from another angle, we also can't expect to believe that a single decision we make right now will remain the unaltered solution in the long term. By nature, our needs and ideals shift and change. So you can't ask yourself, "What will make me happy forever?" Odds are, there isn't an answer. I'm no longer even willing to ask myself, "What will make me happy a year from now?". Because, honestly, one year ago I wouldn't have had a clue about my life course in January 2013. I actually didn't even want to have a clue. And I'm remembering how that lack of pressure felt so freeing.
This doesn't mean I'm going to stop striving toward certain goals. But much like my 2013 goal planning, allowing myself to shift focus if one goal feels out of sync, I want to keep my life decisions malleable. I want happiness to mean that I'm content with what I'm doing in the present. And if I'm not, that I'm exploring ways to redirect myself. This could be as high level as a job or living situation, or as rudimentary as being bored on a Saturday afternoon.
One other thought, snagged from a blog that I follow, that keeps running through my head:
"I realised it was never about what I wanted to do, but about how I wanted to feel."
sentimental graffiti \01.13\
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Labels:
graffiti,
texture,
urban
I've spent a lot of hours pondering 'happiness' - discussing, reading, thinking. What I've come to conclude is that I can't think of happiness as an aggregate. So what exactly does that mean? There's no such thing as the perfect alignment of all circumstances and situations. This isn't Pleasantville. Life doesn't fit in a box. If we expect to attain perfection across all of life's myriad segments (career, home, love, family, etc.) at once, then we've only set ourselves up for a fall.
Looking at it from another angle, we also can't expect to believe that a single decision we make right now will remain the unaltered solution in the long term. By nature, our needs and ideals shift and change. So you can't ask yourself, "What will make me happy forever?" Odds are, there isn't an answer. I'm no longer even willing to ask myself, "What will make me happy a year from now?". Because, honestly, one year ago I wouldn't have had a clue about my life course in January 2013. I actually didn't even want to have a clue. And I'm remembering how that lack of pressure felt so freeing.
This doesn't mean I'm going to stop striving toward certain goals. But much like my 2013 goal planning, allowing myself to shift focus if one goal feels out of sync, I want to keep my life decisions malleable. I want happiness to mean that I'm content with what I'm doing in the present. And if I'm not, that I'm exploring ways to redirect myself. This could be as high level as a job or living situation, or as rudimentary as being bored on a Saturday afternoon.
One other thought, snagged from a blog that I follow, that keeps running through my head:
"I realised it was never about what I wanted to do, but about how I wanted to feel."
Yes, Chicago, despite your wintry gray skies and freezing temperatures, I love you. Despite that, I'm leaving you tomorrow. To cheat on you with a city that many consider more prestigious. We'll only be together for three days, so I hope you'll accept me back with open arms.
So I'm off to New York City tomorrow, before dawn even cracks, to visit the mother ship and add a few more tricks to my professional arsenal. I found myself wondering if the streets of New York still have a constant odor of trash in the winter (I've only been there in August or September). And for some reason I found myself feeling like I should set aside some time to peruse some of the iconic festive sights.
It's funny, because in Chicago I steer clear of the festive areas, clogged with tourists. Of course, I've seen them all before, too. No reason to subject myself to pandemonium when there's nothing new within it. And after musing about the possible wintry smell of NYC, I walked outside into the Chicago twilight and it smelled like chocolate chip cookies. It's one of those little things about the city that makes me smile.
And it sort of makes me think, for just a nanosecond, that the streets are going to start flowing with chocolate and my life will transform into a Willy Wonka movie. Of course, there's always the dirty wet dog smell to convince me otherwise. After four years, I'm pretty convinced that it tends to waft around the city on days with a combined high humidity and pollution level.
city love \11.26\
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Labels:
chicago,
graffiti,
urban,
words
So I'm off to New York City tomorrow, before dawn even cracks, to visit the mother ship and add a few more tricks to my professional arsenal. I found myself wondering if the streets of New York still have a constant odor of trash in the winter (I've only been there in August or September). And for some reason I found myself feeling like I should set aside some time to peruse some of the iconic festive sights.
It's funny, because in Chicago I steer clear of the festive areas, clogged with tourists. Of course, I've seen them all before, too. No reason to subject myself to pandemonium when there's nothing new within it. And after musing about the possible wintry smell of NYC, I walked outside into the Chicago twilight and it smelled like chocolate chip cookies. It's one of those little things about the city that makes me smile.
And it sort of makes me think, for just a nanosecond, that the streets are going to start flowing with chocolate and my life will transform into a Willy Wonka movie. Of course, there's always the dirty wet dog smell to convince me otherwise. After four years, I'm pretty convinced that it tends to waft around the city on days with a combined high humidity and pollution level.
For the past day and a half, I've been ruminating on a mantra that my Saturday morning yoga instructor introduced to us. It's a Sanskrit word: swaha. As soon as she began describing its meaning, I wondered how she had dug inside of my head. After class, I did a little more digging on its origins.
I cut and pasted together an essential meaning that makes sense to me: uplifting oneself by surrendering the ego and releasing it into the fire. 'Swaha' is a mantra, which makes it akin to a mental action, a keyword to remind you to engage.
Too often, I take offense or get overwrought worrying about what other people say to me or think about me. I get caught up in how inappropriately people act or treat myself and others. But I can't control other people, I can only control how I react and think about them.
The first part of this equation is something I've thought about and focused on before. In fact, it's likely contained in another one of these 322 posts. To some measure, I've managed to rein in my reactionary tendencies, whether that means an external or internal reaction.
But just because I've averted the negative flow of emotion, it doesn't mean I've taken my ego out of it. I'm still likely to let a single instance of someone else's action or opinions affect me - whether it's my view of them or myself. So although I began teaching myself how to quell the reaction, the effects still linger.
I seem to be going through a period right now where it feels like I'm struggling to keep a lot of balls in the air. So it's easy to get down on myself. 'Swaha' may be just a word, but it's a simpler way of reminding myself to remove my ego from an event and relinquish it, forget about it, let it cease to exist. And with that, perhaps it won't be the end of my struggling, but at least I can hope that it'll help keep me mentally afloat.
It's still a little strange for me to be this open about the things swirling in my head. I suppose there's a certain sense of invisibility about digital communication, allowing me to feel like I'm writing to no one. And there's also a little bit of that removal of ego that I've learned to embrace this year.
tagging in \11.18\
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Labels:
art,
color,
graffiti,
urban
I cut and pasted together an essential meaning that makes sense to me: uplifting oneself by surrendering the ego and releasing it into the fire. 'Swaha' is a mantra, which makes it akin to a mental action, a keyword to remind you to engage.
Too often, I take offense or get overwrought worrying about what other people say to me or think about me. I get caught up in how inappropriately people act or treat myself and others. But I can't control other people, I can only control how I react and think about them.
The first part of this equation is something I've thought about and focused on before. In fact, it's likely contained in another one of these 322 posts. To some measure, I've managed to rein in my reactionary tendencies, whether that means an external or internal reaction.
But just because I've averted the negative flow of emotion, it doesn't mean I've taken my ego out of it. I'm still likely to let a single instance of someone else's action or opinions affect me - whether it's my view of them or myself. So although I began teaching myself how to quell the reaction, the effects still linger.
I seem to be going through a period right now where it feels like I'm struggling to keep a lot of balls in the air. So it's easy to get down on myself. 'Swaha' may be just a word, but it's a simpler way of reminding myself to remove my ego from an event and relinquish it, forget about it, let it cease to exist. And with that, perhaps it won't be the end of my struggling, but at least I can hope that it'll help keep me mentally afloat.
It's still a little strange for me to be this open about the things swirling in my head. I suppose there's a certain sense of invisibility about digital communication, allowing me to feel like I'm writing to no one. And there's also a little bit of that removal of ego that I've learned to embrace this year.
Perhaps this makes me strange (of the many things that fall under that category), but I actually like doing laundry. At least, there's the potential for me to enjoy it. I must admit that my current set up is less than optimal: scrounging for quarters, waiting for machines, constantly going upstairs and downstairs to switch loads.
I suppose the reward for me is really the folding. If you've ever seen The Big Bang Theory or worked in a clothing story, you're familiar with some sort of folding board. I would use one of those. I went out of my way to use one when I worked in retail. Yes, it's anal retentive, but there's a certain sense of satisfaction I get out of precision folding my clothes. No, this doesn't mean I want to come to your house and do your laundry.
Then there's the part of the laundry process that I remember enjoying even as a child. Although I was less than enthused to be on family laundry duty when I was seven years old, I loved piles of clothes fresh out of the dryer. I would cover myself in them, absorbing the warmth and the fresh scent. Although I no longer lay in a pile, I do have a tendency to drape a warm t-shirt over myself.
On a side note, it's funny how the stream of consciousness that is this blog has a tendency to harken back to childhood and adolescent "I remember when..." moments. I suppose I'll have a really good collection ready when I'm old, so I won't have to recall them on my own.
all in a day's commute \10.16\
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Labels:
bus,
road,
urban
I suppose the reward for me is really the folding. If you've ever seen The Big Bang Theory or worked in a clothing story, you're familiar with some sort of folding board. I would use one of those. I went out of my way to use one when I worked in retail. Yes, it's anal retentive, but there's a certain sense of satisfaction I get out of precision folding my clothes. No, this doesn't mean I want to come to your house and do your laundry.
Then there's the part of the laundry process that I remember enjoying even as a child. Although I was less than enthused to be on family laundry duty when I was seven years old, I loved piles of clothes fresh out of the dryer. I would cover myself in them, absorbing the warmth and the fresh scent. Although I no longer lay in a pile, I do have a tendency to drape a warm t-shirt over myself.
On a side note, it's funny how the stream of consciousness that is this blog has a tendency to harken back to childhood and adolescent "I remember when..." moments. I suppose I'll have a really good collection ready when I'm old, so I won't have to recall them on my own.
I think you'll agree that it's quite rare to enjoy the scent of something dead and decaying. This isn't as dark or strange as it seems, I swear. It's just that I took a walk through the neighborhood after work today, taking in deep breaths of autumn leaves. And I happened to start pondering why I so thoroughly enjoyed the smell of something dying.
I suppose this could be another one of those things that defines my rural upbringing. It fits well with my enjoyment of the way fresh cut grass and sawdust smell. And then there are bonfires, which are somehow amazing when you're in front of them and then obnoxiously pungent when you can't get the smell out of your clothes and hair.
This is another time when I start to compare my childhood environment to that of kids in the city. It's difficult to imagine growing up without these things. Sometimes I want to stop remembering them fondly and just do them again. I want the tree in my front yard, being perched on a branch over a pile of leaves deep enough to cushion my leap of faith. I want Friday nights gathered around a bonfire pit, staring into the flames and listening to crackle of branches.
If only autumn lasted longer. And my parents still lived in my childhood home. Or even a had a yard with deciduous trees. Alas, I'll just have to look back fondly for now.
rust & rails \10.09\
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Labels:
chicago,
rail,
urban
I suppose this could be another one of those things that defines my rural upbringing. It fits well with my enjoyment of the way fresh cut grass and sawdust smell. And then there are bonfires, which are somehow amazing when you're in front of them and then obnoxiously pungent when you can't get the smell out of your clothes and hair.
This is another time when I start to compare my childhood environment to that of kids in the city. It's difficult to imagine growing up without these things. Sometimes I want to stop remembering them fondly and just do them again. I want the tree in my front yard, being perched on a branch over a pile of leaves deep enough to cushion my leap of faith. I want Friday nights gathered around a bonfire pit, staring into the flames and listening to crackle of branches.
If only autumn lasted longer. And my parents still lived in my childhood home. Or even a had a yard with deciduous trees. Alas, I'll just have to look back fondly for now.
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.
on the high line \09.12\
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Labels:
brick,
night,
nyc,
park,
urban
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.
...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.
when in chelsea... \09.10\
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Labels:
ice cream,
nyc,
urban
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.
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.
flatiron & laguardia \09.07\
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Labels:
architecture,
building,
urban,
wine
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.
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.
office, open & optimism \09.05\ & \09.06\
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Labels:
nyc,
office,
tennis,
urban
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.
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.
My actual travel went surprisingly smooth. Caught a cab to the Blue Line, only had to wait four minutes for a train, five minutes in the security line, took off on time, and landed early. I even managed to get to my hotel for $5 cheaper when the cabbie decided to take the Williamburg Bridge instead of the Midtown tunnel. Came in the back door and missed some traffic.
Pretty quickly after checking into my hotel room, which is somehow even smaller than the one I had in the same hotel last week, things started to get strange. I unpacked and arranged some things around my temporary home, then decided to head out for some wandering.
As soon as I walked out the front door, some sensation drew my attention to my left index finger. It hurt. The I realized it was swollen...and turn black and blue. I started wondering what bit me, because I hadn't hit it, slammed it or tweaked it. So I rushed back upstairs and scrambled to hunt down an ice machine.
I don't quite remember, but I'm guessing it was somewhere around that point when anxiety starting setting it. After twenty minutes of icing, I figured it was time to go about my original plan and headed out. Only, as I walked up 6th Avenue, I felt like my mind and body were detached, unfocused.
Although I wasn't particularly hungry or thirsty, nutrition and hydration were my best guesses to resolve the rather disorienting state. Duane Reade provided a luxurious bagel and string cheese lunch. Since I wasn't willing to admit defeat just yet, I nabbed a park bench and tried to convince myself to eat.
Apparently I was being watched, by a kid in his early twenties who had previously been catnapping on another bench. He approached me awkwardly, said "hi", and proceeded to just stare at me. I said "hi" and waited. Then he said his name and stared again. I responded with "Ok" and waited some more. I wasn't in the mood.
From there he started rambling, and maybe it was just my state of mind, but half of it sounded like nonsense. At one point he told me that we're all youthful inside. Then he was telling me about the beauty of the leaves and grass, which segued into him asking me if I'd like to lay in the park and look at them with him. I politely declined, telling him I didn't feel well and was going to my hotel.
Since then, I've spent most of my time resting in this king-size bed, only seeing the city through my window. I suppose I'll be here many more days though, and I have a first day of work to report to in the morning, so I'd rather not press my luck.
en route, again \09.03\
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Labels:
train,
travel,
urban
Pretty quickly after checking into my hotel room, which is somehow even smaller than the one I had in the same hotel last week, things started to get strange. I unpacked and arranged some things around my temporary home, then decided to head out for some wandering.
As soon as I walked out the front door, some sensation drew my attention to my left index finger. It hurt. The I realized it was swollen...and turn black and blue. I started wondering what bit me, because I hadn't hit it, slammed it or tweaked it. So I rushed back upstairs and scrambled to hunt down an ice machine.
I don't quite remember, but I'm guessing it was somewhere around that point when anxiety starting setting it. After twenty minutes of icing, I figured it was time to go about my original plan and headed out. Only, as I walked up 6th Avenue, I felt like my mind and body were detached, unfocused.
Although I wasn't particularly hungry or thirsty, nutrition and hydration were my best guesses to resolve the rather disorienting state. Duane Reade provided a luxurious bagel and string cheese lunch. Since I wasn't willing to admit defeat just yet, I nabbed a park bench and tried to convince myself to eat.
Apparently I was being watched, by a kid in his early twenties who had previously been catnapping on another bench. He approached me awkwardly, said "hi", and proceeded to just stare at me. I said "hi" and waited. Then he said his name and stared again. I responded with "Ok" and waited some more. I wasn't in the mood.
From there he started rambling, and maybe it was just my state of mind, but half of it sounded like nonsense. At one point he told me that we're all youthful inside. Then he was telling me about the beauty of the leaves and grass, which segued into him asking me if I'd like to lay in the park and look at them with him. I politely declined, telling him I didn't feel well and was going to my hotel.
Since then, I've spent most of my time resting in this king-size bed, only seeing the city through my window. I suppose I'll be here many more days though, and I have a first day of work to report to in the morning, so I'd rather not press my luck.
Barely 24 hours of my life passed by in New York City. When taking into consideration the whirlwind timeline of the trip, the mental tornado of interviewing, and the pace of the city flowing around me - I don't entirely believe that I was even there. I must have made it up.
It amazes me how different NYC feels from Chicago, even on our most bustling streets. Granted, my radius of experience in NYC doesn't flow very far outside of Midtown, but everything feels more narrow, crowded and harried.
Yet, I'm not necessarily uncomfortable there. However, I am not quite as aggressive in my crosswalking as those New Yorkers. I don't think they believe in standing on the sidewalk.
Everyone's first question after an interview is, "How did it go?" And you never really know the answer to that question until you're offered the job or rejected. This time around, here's what I did know upon walking out the door.
I was honestly enthusiastic about the opportunity and I feel like it naturally injected my conversations with life.
There wasn't a single area where I couldn't find a parallel between my skills and their requirements.
I was able to relate to everyone that I talked to on a personal level, which made the conversations enjoyable and reassured me that this is a company culture that I could seamlessly feel at home in.
Finally, all of hours that I spent there felt like conversations instead of interrogations - a measure that I always considered when I was on the other side of the interview table.
Now I'm watching the hours pass, hoping to hear from someone. Hoping to hear good news from someone.
passing through nyc \08.28\
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Labels:
buildings,
cafe,
interview,
nyc,
urban
It amazes me how different NYC feels from Chicago, even on our most bustling streets. Granted, my radius of experience in NYC doesn't flow very far outside of Midtown, but everything feels more narrow, crowded and harried.
Yet, I'm not necessarily uncomfortable there. However, I am not quite as aggressive in my crosswalking as those New Yorkers. I don't think they believe in standing on the sidewalk.
Everyone's first question after an interview is, "How did it go?" And you never really know the answer to that question until you're offered the job or rejected. This time around, here's what I did know upon walking out the door.
I was honestly enthusiastic about the opportunity and I feel like it naturally injected my conversations with life.
There wasn't a single area where I couldn't find a parallel between my skills and their requirements.
I was able to relate to everyone that I talked to on a personal level, which made the conversations enjoyable and reassured me that this is a company culture that I could seamlessly feel at home in.
Finally, all of hours that I spent there felt like conversations instead of interrogations - a measure that I always considered when I was on the other side of the interview table.
Now I'm watching the hours pass, hoping to hear from someone. Hoping to hear good news from someone.
Expect the unexpected. Plan for the worst. Call it what you want to call it. There's a reason that I do it.
I'm sure it's not actually just me, but it often feels like I'm incessantly the target of things not going as intended. And there are obviously many things in my life that don't go awry. It just so happens that the moments of stress and anxiety usurp those moments I'm my memory.
I started monitoring my public transportation timing and route to the airport yesterday. The 74 bus, walk one block, blue line to O'Hare. A one hour journey when I overestimated.
But then there was the bus stop where we lingered for eight minutes. And the crosswalk signal that I just missed, which delayed me the sixty seconds that could've gotten me on a train immediately. Despite the fact that blue line trains were coming every two to six minutes all morning, the next train wasn't arriving for ten. And then that train flew past: an express. Two more minutes later and fifteen minutes behind schedule, I boarded.
Thankfully I included a twenty minute buffer zone on top of my one hour pre-flight arrival. I made my way to Terminal 3 at as close to warp speed as possible, skipping traffic-jammed moving walkways and escalators, hoisting my suitcase up flights of stairs instead.
Hitting the self check-in kiosk exactly one hour before departure, I turned around to the security line and gaped. There were zero people lined up among the stanchions. For the first time ever, I waltzed right up to the TSA guy. In fact, I'm not confident in saying that I even went through security, it was over so quickly.
But, yes, that good karma would twist and turn several more times. Boarding occurred without any ado, my suitcase easily finding a space in my overhead bin. By 12:40pm, the plane doors still hadn't shut on our 12:25pm flight. That's when we learned that air traffic control had us logged as a 1:00pm take-off. Just sit tight another twenty minutes.
Then at 1:00pm another vague issue related to air traffic control was announced. Sit even tighter, now we're not taking off until 1:30pm. The flight itself was less than eventful, besides the woman behind me whose restless leg syndrome was rocking our whole row of seats. Oh, and the toddler two rows up who repeated the same indistinguishable phrase repeatedly while increasing his volume, as if he was practicing scales.
I started to feel relief coursing through my pent up body when the pilot announced our landing in fifteen minutes. He almost immediately reneged, getting back on the speaker to inform us that we'd actually be spending the next 20-30 minutes in a holding pattern.
So, just another routine trip in my life. At least my hotel room rate included a New York-style pie (a.k.a. pizza) bigger than the TV. Too bad I won't be around longer to enjoy the leftovers; I don't think they'd travel well.
room with a view \08.27\
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Labels:
buildings,
interview,
nyc,
urban
I'm sure it's not actually just me, but it often feels like I'm incessantly the target of things not going as intended. And there are obviously many things in my life that don't go awry. It just so happens that the moments of stress and anxiety usurp those moments I'm my memory.
I started monitoring my public transportation timing and route to the airport yesterday. The 74 bus, walk one block, blue line to O'Hare. A one hour journey when I overestimated.
But then there was the bus stop where we lingered for eight minutes. And the crosswalk signal that I just missed, which delayed me the sixty seconds that could've gotten me on a train immediately. Despite the fact that blue line trains were coming every two to six minutes all morning, the next train wasn't arriving for ten. And then that train flew past: an express. Two more minutes later and fifteen minutes behind schedule, I boarded.
Thankfully I included a twenty minute buffer zone on top of my one hour pre-flight arrival. I made my way to Terminal 3 at as close to warp speed as possible, skipping traffic-jammed moving walkways and escalators, hoisting my suitcase up flights of stairs instead.
Hitting the self check-in kiosk exactly one hour before departure, I turned around to the security line and gaped. There were zero people lined up among the stanchions. For the first time ever, I waltzed right up to the TSA guy. In fact, I'm not confident in saying that I even went through security, it was over so quickly.
But, yes, that good karma would twist and turn several more times. Boarding occurred without any ado, my suitcase easily finding a space in my overhead bin. By 12:40pm, the plane doors still hadn't shut on our 12:25pm flight. That's when we learned that air traffic control had us logged as a 1:00pm take-off. Just sit tight another twenty minutes.
Then at 1:00pm another vague issue related to air traffic control was announced. Sit even tighter, now we're not taking off until 1:30pm. The flight itself was less than eventful, besides the woman behind me whose restless leg syndrome was rocking our whole row of seats. Oh, and the toddler two rows up who repeated the same indistinguishable phrase repeatedly while increasing his volume, as if he was practicing scales.
I started to feel relief coursing through my pent up body when the pilot announced our landing in fifteen minutes. He almost immediately reneged, getting back on the speaker to inform us that we'd actually be spending the next 20-30 minutes in a holding pattern.
So, just another routine trip in my life. At least my hotel room rate included a New York-style pie (a.k.a. pizza) bigger than the TV. Too bad I won't be around longer to enjoy the leftovers; I don't think they'd travel well.
Although I've learned this lesson many times throughout my life, I've been constantly hit over the head with it this week. Things don't always go as you expected.
My new caveat to this age-old lesson is that unexpected things can still turn out pretty well, though perhaps in a different way. Having the right attitude and the highest caliber people in your life can make all of the difference.
A job interview awaits me on Tuesday. I've already put a lot of stock and hope into it. I have to make my way to New York, a city I'm not very familiar with and oddly intimidated by, for the interview process. There's a lot of ways for this journey to culminate. All I can control is my mind and my actions.
Maybe some things won't go as expected. Especially in an unfamiliar city, among people you don't know, the script can change quickly. I doubt that I'll manage to move forward with no expectations, but I'll at least attempt to keep them subdued.
urban water tower \08.25\
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Labels:
buildings,
sky,
urban
My new caveat to this age-old lesson is that unexpected things can still turn out pretty well, though perhaps in a different way. Having the right attitude and the highest caliber people in your life can make all of the difference.
A job interview awaits me on Tuesday. I've already put a lot of stock and hope into it. I have to make my way to New York, a city I'm not very familiar with and oddly intimidated by, for the interview process. There's a lot of ways for this journey to culminate. All I can control is my mind and my actions.
Maybe some things won't go as expected. Especially in an unfamiliar city, among people you don't know, the script can change quickly. I doubt that I'll manage to move forward with no expectations, but I'll at least attempt to keep them subdued.
Frankly, my brain has been spinning in so many circles this week that I can't think of a single cohesive theme to write about. It has been a five-day roller coaster - climbing, dropping, looping.
I would guess that this disequilibrium is a symptom of impending major change. The last major shift in my life was eight months ago, yet feels like years ago.
Each morning this week, I woke up between 4:30-5:30am, which is a good three hours before my usual rise and shine moment. I had to go for a three-mile walk today to shake the jittery combination of anxiety and excitement from my body. Maybe I should lay off of drinking coffee for a couple weeks.
shadow play \08.23\
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Labels:
neighborhood,
urban
I would guess that this disequilibrium is a symptom of impending major change. The last major shift in my life was eight months ago, yet feels like years ago.
Each morning this week, I woke up between 4:30-5:30am, which is a good three hours before my usual rise and shine moment. I had to go for a three-mile walk today to shake the jittery combination of anxiety and excitement from my body. Maybe I should lay off of drinking coffee for a couple weeks.
Disappointment is a tricky state of mind. You have to be careful not to let it leach into other facets of your life or to taint the progression of the arena where it occurs. As difficult as it is to view disappointment objectively, it seems to be the best approach for curtailing the possible negative aftermath.
When a situation doesn't live up to expectations, a palpable sense of disappointment can reveal how much it mattered to you. By asking myself not only if I'm disappointed, but why, I learn a lot about the direction and intensity of my feelings.
As soon as I've let myself experience and assess disappointment, though, I attempt to move past it. Wallowing won't make it better. So I assume that it either occurred to create a path for something better or I merely accept that it happened and shift my focus to next steps.
Maybe it's a coping mechanism. Perhaps it's the reason that people tend to bestow upon me the "grace under pressure" moniker. I suppose I would rather just recognize and address my disappointment than let it own me. Despite all of this, I still feel it, sometimes rather acutely.
loop rush hour \08.21\
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Labels:
chicago,
downtown,
urban
When a situation doesn't live up to expectations, a palpable sense of disappointment can reveal how much it mattered to you. By asking myself not only if I'm disappointed, but why, I learn a lot about the direction and intensity of my feelings.
As soon as I've let myself experience and assess disappointment, though, I attempt to move past it. Wallowing won't make it better. So I assume that it either occurred to create a path for something better or I merely accept that it happened and shift my focus to next steps.
Maybe it's a coping mechanism. Perhaps it's the reason that people tend to bestow upon me the "grace under pressure" moniker. I suppose I would rather just recognize and address my disappointment than let it own me. Despite all of this, I still feel it, sometimes rather acutely.
Sometimes life hands you everything at once - the good, the bad, the perplexing. That seems to be how last week started and this week continues. Family, friends, relationships, work. I'm acutely aware of each one right now.
My great aunt passed away this morning. The sadness ebbs and flows, mixed with relief that her pain and struggle are over. In convenient coincidence, I have a particularly busy week of planned rendezvous with friends. This serves as both a soothing distraction and a reminder to appreciate the people in my life.
During all of this, I have forged a promising path for returning to the full-time working world. It actually feels great to be enthusiastic about an opportunity, to walk down Wacker Drive and want to be there again.
It's amazing how quickly the path of my journey and the extent of my perspective can be affected in a week or even a day. Life is so volatile. This year has been a great lesson in focusing on what's most meaningful and appreciating it; you never know what tomorrow will bring.
reflections \08.20\
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Labels:
architecture,
buildings,
urban
My great aunt passed away this morning. The sadness ebbs and flows, mixed with relief that her pain and struggle are over. In convenient coincidence, I have a particularly busy week of planned rendezvous with friends. This serves as both a soothing distraction and a reminder to appreciate the people in my life.
During all of this, I have forged a promising path for returning to the full-time working world. It actually feels great to be enthusiastic about an opportunity, to walk down Wacker Drive and want to be there again.
It's amazing how quickly the path of my journey and the extent of my perspective can be affected in a week or even a day. Life is so volatile. This year has been a great lesson in focusing on what's most meaningful and appreciating it; you never know what tomorrow will bring.
The hints of the cooler climes ahead have begun. With that, in the midwest, wafts in the ambiance of college football. There are certain days when I walk outside and can practically smell it in the air; regardless of what city street I'm walking down, my mind is transported to Saturday walks to Spartan Stadium down Shaw Lane.
This feeling hits me every year in the weeks preceding the season opener and in those years I've always had the feeling that I'm not the only one.
Chicago is a melting pot of relocated alumni; clearly a large chunk of the ratio leans toward the Big Ten, but there are myriad universities represented. As September looms and the weather starts to turn, there's a noticeable uptick in university apparel.
Everyone seems to be representing their school more prominently when football season is on the horizon. It just gets me even more revved up.
Last year was the first season since I enrolled at MSU that I didn't make it to a football game. Truly unacceptable. The plan is to make it to at least one game this season, the only problem being a significant hike in ticket prices thanks to Coach Dantonio's success with the program.
escape route \08.18\
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Labels:
brick,
building,
stairs,
urban
This feeling hits me every year in the weeks preceding the season opener and in those years I've always had the feeling that I'm not the only one.
Chicago is a melting pot of relocated alumni; clearly a large chunk of the ratio leans toward the Big Ten, but there are myriad universities represented. As September looms and the weather starts to turn, there's a noticeable uptick in university apparel.
Everyone seems to be representing their school more prominently when football season is on the horizon. It just gets me even more revved up.
Last year was the first season since I enrolled at MSU that I didn't make it to a football game. Truly unacceptable. The plan is to make it to at least one game this season, the only problem being a significant hike in ticket prices thanks to Coach Dantonio's success with the program.
The first half of my day seemed intent on not going as expected or desired. With a recruiter meeting scheduled in River North at 11:00am, I left my place at 10:25am to hop an 11 bus.
As handy as the CTA's bus tracker is, sometimes it lies. I was supposed to have a four-minute walk that should've easily fit within my seven-minute clearance. Instead I was a half-block away from the stop as I watched the bus accelerate southbound through the intersection.
No problem, there's always a 22 bus as an alternate plan. Again I was left with seven minutes to book it two and a half blocks...in heels. And clearly I haven't had a need to wear heels at any time in the past eight months, so blisters were already forming.
Guess what happened when I was a half-block away? Southbound bus, intersection, acceleration. Luckily I live at a virtual crossroads of buses, so I just kept walking the next block over to the 156. Unfortunately, ten to fifteen minutes had already passed and I had another nine minutes to wait.
Anyone who knows me well is familiar with my anal retentive need to not only be on time, but early. And now I was not only destined to be late, but late to what was essentially a preliminary job interview.
If you'd like to fast forward about twenty minutes with me, I somehow managed to walk in the door, flustered and glistening a bit from the effort, only one minute late. Then it took only another fifteen seconds to learn that my recruiter was running late.
Thus, I spent a half hour at the Starbucks patio on Franklin and Chicago, people watching and taking pictures of the 'L' tracks. I felt justified in taking the afternoon off for napping and reading after all of the transportation excitement. And I think I'll wear flats for the rest of 2012.
track view \08.14\
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Labels:
chicago,
train,
urban
As handy as the CTA's bus tracker is, sometimes it lies. I was supposed to have a four-minute walk that should've easily fit within my seven-minute clearance. Instead I was a half-block away from the stop as I watched the bus accelerate southbound through the intersection.
No problem, there's always a 22 bus as an alternate plan. Again I was left with seven minutes to book it two and a half blocks...in heels. And clearly I haven't had a need to wear heels at any time in the past eight months, so blisters were already forming.
Guess what happened when I was a half-block away? Southbound bus, intersection, acceleration. Luckily I live at a virtual crossroads of buses, so I just kept walking the next block over to the 156. Unfortunately, ten to fifteen minutes had already passed and I had another nine minutes to wait.
Anyone who knows me well is familiar with my anal retentive need to not only be on time, but early. And now I was not only destined to be late, but late to what was essentially a preliminary job interview.
If you'd like to fast forward about twenty minutes with me, I somehow managed to walk in the door, flustered and glistening a bit from the effort, only one minute late. Then it took only another fifteen seconds to learn that my recruiter was running late.
Thus, I spent a half hour at the Starbucks patio on Franklin and Chicago, people watching and taking pictures of the 'L' tracks. I felt justified in taking the afternoon off for napping and reading after all of the transportation excitement. And I think I'll wear flats for the rest of 2012.
In my spare, I have become a bit of a blog hunter. Some of them offer me tutorials for things like recipes and crafty stuff, others help me direct and consider life decisions, many simply show me that there are other people battling with the same concerns and vying for the same hopes as I am.
A lot of these blogs are one time visits for me, a handful hold my attention across multiple posts, but a select few grab my attention to the point that I start reading the archives like a novel.
Today I found myself wading through archives and I know I'll go back for more. One of the posts that caught me was about an activity that she called "worry cards". The short back story: she was have a meltdown and decided to wrap her arms around all of the stressors in her head.
Each worry was written on a card, then they were sorted into overarching categories. Each category was further pared down into things that couldn't be controlled, those that could, and things that were already done and over but still causing anxiety.
First, she addressed each worry that was out of her control, writing on the back of the cards what she wished the desired outcome of each to be. Since they're out of her control, there is no action to take, only acknowledgment. Next, she looked at the done and over pile, relegating them to the proper status of no longer relevant with a single sentence on the back of each card. Accept and move on.
Finally, there are those worries that can be attacked. How do they become less daunting? Simply by focusing on the first step that can be taken toward resolution. Write it on the back. Then put them in an order of attack, a ready-made task list to being worry free.
Although I can't say that I'm in meltdown mode right now, my over-analytical mind is constantly stewing on multiple things. It's such a logical way to bring clarity and structure to a mind running astray. The applications for an exercise like this can be useful across personal or professional instances.
If you want to check out the originator of this concept and her post, it's on the Make Under My Life blog.
night rider \08.01\
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Labels:
bus,
night,
urban
A lot of these blogs are one time visits for me, a handful hold my attention across multiple posts, but a select few grab my attention to the point that I start reading the archives like a novel.
Today I found myself wading through archives and I know I'll go back for more. One of the posts that caught me was about an activity that she called "worry cards". The short back story: she was have a meltdown and decided to wrap her arms around all of the stressors in her head.
Each worry was written on a card, then they were sorted into overarching categories. Each category was further pared down into things that couldn't be controlled, those that could, and things that were already done and over but still causing anxiety.
First, she addressed each worry that was out of her control, writing on the back of the cards what she wished the desired outcome of each to be. Since they're out of her control, there is no action to take, only acknowledgment. Next, she looked at the done and over pile, relegating them to the proper status of no longer relevant with a single sentence on the back of each card. Accept and move on.
Finally, there are those worries that can be attacked. How do they become less daunting? Simply by focusing on the first step that can be taken toward resolution. Write it on the back. Then put them in an order of attack, a ready-made task list to being worry free.
Although I can't say that I'm in meltdown mode right now, my over-analytical mind is constantly stewing on multiple things. It's such a logical way to bring clarity and structure to a mind running astray. The applications for an exercise like this can be useful across personal or professional instances.
If you want to check out the originator of this concept and her post, it's on the Make Under My Life blog.
After several rounds of literature from the best of all time lists, my mind needed a cool down lap. I found some fictional light reading; I might even go as far as calling it chick lit. Not a standard in my reading practices. To make things even more unusual, one of the main characters had my name...and somehow her life path looked eerily similar to mine in several ways.
I get the feeling that this author based her characters on the lives of people that she knew, a group of imperfect people living through maladjusted situations. There were no perfectly happy endings. So, as chick lit goes, I appreciated that.
I've actually always been a sucker for movie endings that leave you hanging and wondering, allowing you to imagine the course of life. People always found it strange when I applauded an ending that was tied up in a neat little bow of happiness. That's rarely how real life works. Aspects can be happy, but the whole picture is rarely perfect.
My life isn't perfect at this exact moment in time, and I know that the next big decision I make won't lead me down a magical path to perfection either. The goal is to take small steps that, in and of themselves, lead to happiness in the present. It's easy to get obsessed with a picture of the future and an image of perfection. But the future is made up of the decisions we make in the present and perfection is unattainable.
industrial geometry \07.29\
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Labels:
building,
train,
urban
I get the feeling that this author based her characters on the lives of people that she knew, a group of imperfect people living through maladjusted situations. There were no perfectly happy endings. So, as chick lit goes, I appreciated that.
I've actually always been a sucker for movie endings that leave you hanging and wondering, allowing you to imagine the course of life. People always found it strange when I applauded an ending that was tied up in a neat little bow of happiness. That's rarely how real life works. Aspects can be happy, but the whole picture is rarely perfect.
My life isn't perfect at this exact moment in time, and I know that the next big decision I make won't lead me down a magical path to perfection either. The goal is to take small steps that, in and of themselves, lead to happiness in the present. It's easy to get obsessed with a picture of the future and an image of perfection. But the future is made up of the decisions we make in the present and perfection is unattainable.