This Must Be the Place

I grew up in Chicago, on the North side of the city (saved you a step in trying to ask what suburb I'm from and then me having to explain that no I'm not from the suburbs I'm actually from the city, etc. - you're welcome for that). And chances are that no matter what happens, Chicago will always be my favorite city in the world. It's home, after all, and a pretty great place to call home at that.

A couple months ago, though, I visited New York City for the second time, and I haven't been able to stop thinking about the way it made me feel. The way it made me think. The way that when you're there, it's like you know everything and nothing at the same time. Simply put, New York makes me feel alive. It makes me question humanity, society and whether or not there's anywhere else on Earth like it (I don't think there is). The electricity of the city runs right through your veins in the best way possible and if only for a moment shared with a stranger, you feel connected to it, a part of it.

If you haven't been to New York City, I'm jealous. Because you've still yet to experience the first moment New York will steal your heart. For me, it wasn't Times Square or a Broadway play or even having my first slice of New York style pizza (although that's damn good). It was laughing my way onto the subway after a few (too many) drinks with some friends I hadn't seen in awhile. None of us really knew where the train was taking us, and I'm willing to bet we made our trip at least 3x as long as it needed to be. But there was something about that moment that just clicked.

The sky-high rent. The sometimes putrid smell of the subway stations. The $15 cocktails. It all seemed worth it to be a cog in this crazy, beautiful machine called New York City. I think that once you experience New York, you will find yourself feeling a connection to this place, too. Feeling comfort in knowing that this place is out there. That there's this wonderful web of city streets where around every corner is a piece of every corner of the world. And even more than comfort, feeling excitement in thinking that somewhere in this wonderful web, your new home might be waiting for you (or being lived in by mice and/or cockroaches, but hey). 

I like to think that in a way, New York is waiting for everyone, just like it was waiting for me. Whether it's for a week or a lifetime or even just a few hours. One day, I think I'll call it home. But for now, I'll trust that the piece of my heart that's in New York City is waiting patiently (okay, probably not patiently, if it's my heart) for me to meet it there. Maybe on a street corner, enjoying a black and white cookie and watching the people pass by.

Always Starting Over

Do you ever stop and think about how different your life would be if you had (or, more interestingly to me, hadn't) done a certain thing, gone a certain place, talked to a certain person? I've spent a lot of time doing this (maybe too much), and I felt so understood a couple of months ago when I saw the musical If/Then in St. Louis. I encourage you to click here and listen while you read this post, whether you've seen the musical or not.

I'm two weeks away from my first half marathon, and this morning was my second to last long run (11 miles) before the race. I am the type of person who needs music when I run, so I'm always updating my Spotify running playlist with new tracks that get me inspired while I'm running. Today, I was excited when my favorite song from If/Then came on. 

If you're not familiar with If/Then, here's the cliff notes: Forty-something woman in New York City sees the two totally different paths her life could take based on one simple decision. Absolutely captivating story, would highly recommend - but we'll save that for another time.

Back to the run. "Always Starting Over", Idina Menzel's power ballad from If/Then, came on - and it got me thinking. "Am I always starting over in a brand new story? Am I always back at one after all I've done?" This line. Wow. If we really give some thought to it, every moment, every decision, every new step we take is the start of a whole new adventure. A new path. Maybe even a new life, depending on the implications of the choice. Now if we think about this too much, life would probably just get too overwhelming - we wouldn't even be able to decide on an ice cream flavor or what pair of shoes to wear (side note: I admittedly have deliberated over both of these choices various times). But, if we think about it just enough, it is amazing, inspiring and maybe a little bit scary, too. 

If we really are "always starting over" each day, is life one new opportunity after another or a fruitless and frustrating waste of time? It's hard to say definitively, which is what I love about the question this song poses. Coming from a person who was constantly told in grade school art class to "start over" because I messed up (again), it is hard to look at "starting over" as something positive. I've certainly been on both sides of that coin, and I'm pretty sure we all have. It's a sometimes you're the bug, sometimes you're the windshield kinda thing.

That being said, I absolutely love the way "Always Starting Over" ties this forehead-wrinkling ball of confusion together and seems to answer the question I posed above. "We can leave life for tomorrow or grieve all that we thought we'd do...or make each moment new." What a call to action - stare today in the face, and appreciate the fact that life allows us to start over every day if we so choose. So "starting over" doesn't mean defeat. Or failure. Or that you messed up your art project again. It means the chance to attach a new piece to the jigsaw puzzle of life.

All of this thinking distracted my body a bit from its physical exhaustion and turned the dial towards mental exercise - I think my feet really appreciated that. I will say, however, that it made it very hard to decide which way to turn at the next street corner.

Let's Talk About Texts

Facebook. Twitter. Instagram. Messages. Email. Repeat.

Out to lunch today, I witnessed several people doing what has come to be expected of today’s people – staring into their smart phone screens. Whole tables of people in each other's company in body only. I’m not talking about the occasional check for text messages or voicemails. I’m talking about the way they were staring into the phones like they were the Magic Mirror or something. And I’ll be the first to admit that I was right there with them. Noticing this, I had to stop and ask myself why.

Why are we more concerned with making sure that the salad in front of us is Instagram-ready than with enjoying the salad? What is the significance of a Facebook like or a retweet (by the way, my Microsoft Word didn’t recognize retweet, which shocked me… Get with the times, dictionary.)? Why are we more interested in what is going on away from us than what is going on in front of us?

Maybe we have always been this way and now we just have the technology to quench that thirst – or maybe the technology is the heat stroke creating the thirst. I like to think it’s the latter, because that gives me a little more faith in people. Maybe we aren’t just a bunch of social-media-soaked enthusiasts who would rather read an electronic book than its outdated paper relative. Besides, I never understood the allure of the Kindle or Nook – what is the joy of reading a book if you can’t crinkle the pages? Until the tablet readers get a “crinkle” button, count me out.

Tangent aside, I don’t mean to sound like one of those people who harp on society for being glued to screens. I relish in the consumption of social media. I browse Pinterest on the reg. I even spend minutes trying to condense a thought I just have to get out there into 140 characters or concocting the perfect caption for an Instagram. Seeing that I find nothing wrong with the offerings of smart phones, computers or the like, you may wonder why I am writing this.

It's sort of a "it's not you, it's me" type of thing – it's not the technology itself - it's the way we are using it. It's preferring an interactive screen to a human being in front of us doesn’t sit well with me (although I, too, am a culprit). So I am challenging myself for the next week: to refrain from using my phone while I am with others. If the world lights on fire or they find out that Nutella is an antioxidant or something, I might have to tweet about it. Otherwise it’s time to focus on what is in front of me – and I don’t mean my computer screen because that’s what’s in front of me right now.

After the week passes, who knows what will happen? Maybe I will be changed forever and I will no longer be one of those people you see out to lunch engrossed in their phone.

Or maybe it will be back to… Facebook. Twitter. Instagram. Messages. Email. Repeat. Oh, and sometimes I blog.

Little Worlds

Have you ever driven by somebody’s house who had the TV playing and for that split second, slowed down to see what they were watching? Also related and almost as fun: driving in bumper-to-bumper traffic behind someone who has a movie playing on their in-car DVD player. Anyway – in my neighborhood, there’s a house around the block that’s notorious for constantly having their TV on, so whenever I drive by, I try to sneak a glimpse of Wheel of Fortune or the Cubs game or whatever they have on that day.

I had always wondered why this intrigued me. It’s just a TV show. I could easily throw myself down on my couch at home and within a few deft clicks of the remote, I too could be watching Pat Sajak crush somebody’s dreams when he reads off ‘R – S – T – L – N – E’ only for Vanna to reveal no letters. Before I let the inner game show lover in me sneak out, I’ll move along with my thoughts.

On a flight home, as we broke through the last layer of clouds, I had a breakthrough (no pun intended – although I do love a good pun). As all the buildings started to come into focus, I realized it’s not about the TV show. It’s not about the movie that is playing on the miniature DVD player in the backseat of the car. It’s all about the little worlds.

Every house. Every office building . Every tiny little car that zig-zagged on the tiny little roads. Each a little world in and of itself. When you slow down and catch that moment of afternoon television through a stranger’s living room window, you are almost a part of a little world besides your own for a second. It’s exciting – and when you start thinking about it you can’t stop because there are little worlds everywhere around you. I wondered: do other people wonder what my little world is like when they are stuck behind me at a stop light or when I am seated in the window of a street-side restaurant?

When you think about it for too long, it starts to become daunting because you start thinking about all the little worlds that are coexisting and then you start to wonder how it’s possible and how you are going to get a glimpse of as many little worlds as possible. The next phase is starting to realize everyone is too focused on their own little world to realize that there are all of these other ones out there.

Next time you are walking down the street, you’ll hopefully have a lot more to think about than how ugly that woman’s shoes are or how you hope it doesn’t rain because you forgot your umbrella at home. Although, to be perfectly honest, I can’t stand an ugly pair of shoes, and if you forgot your umbrella at home, it probably will rain. I think that much is true in everybody’s little world.

Observations from a Morning Run

8:30 a.m: It was that breeze-blowing, sun-shining kind of weather – the kind that is perfect for a morning run outdoors (one of my favorite things to do) – so I decided to ditch the gym today in favor of a more “organic” workout. Turning the corner off my street, I ran past a fellow jogger who smiled and waved at me and said, “Morning!”

And that was when I started thinking about humans and how much we adore commonalities. That simple interaction and snapshot of dialogue said much more than “Morning!” It said, “Hey, I noticed that we are doing the same thing, so I am going to acknowledge you.” It’s the same idea as that stranger you laugh with in the bathroom when the paper towel dispenser is broken – yeah, you know the one I’m talking about. Or the driver you exchange glances with at the stop light during rush hour as if to just commiserate for a moment and agree upon the fact that traffic just blows.

We humans love other humans who do the same things as us, watch the same things as us, shop the same places as we do… the list could go on for much longer than you’d want to read or I’d want to type. We love these moments because for once, the big, scary world seems a little less big and a little less scary. All of a sudden, instead of being those separate spheres on the Venn diagram, we fall into that middle sliver and it feels great. We have found someone who understands our frustration with the broken paper towel dispenser. Someone who might also be made late for whatever commitment they have due to the parking-lot-esque traffic. Someone who is feeling the same breeze on their face as they round the corner.

And that is really what this world and its people are about – finding people who are feeling the same breeze as we are, metaphorically speaking – or sometimes, on a perfectly weathered day like today, literally speaking. I don’t do math or percentages or the like, but I am 99.9% sure that the guy who waved at me jogging this morning has not analyzed the situation like I did, but that is 99.9% fine by me. The other .01% wishes that all the rest of humanity was weird like me and thought about this stuff. See, there I go again – wishing for a commonality.

Wonderland and Kokomo

"Why, sometimes I've believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast." 

This Alice in Wonderland quote is one that's stuck with me for awhile. Six impossible things before breakfast. It makes life sound like such an adventure - and it is. When I saw Through the Looking Glass a few days ago, it got me thinking about wonder and imagination - if we all can channel this special place called "Wonderland," or if it's a mere figment of Lewis Carroll's imagination just meant for our diversionary pleasure. I like to think it's the former. I'll get to this in a minute so hang with me. But first, let's take a quick trip.

"That's where we want to go, way down in Kokomo..."

Aruba, Jamaica...we all know the Beach Boys song, and I'm sure you mentally sang "Ooh I wanna take ya" - at least, I did...out loud. Anyhow, I grew up listening to this song before I even knew what a "tropical drink" or "afternoon delight" were, and it just popped out of my music library while on shuffle the other day. I started thinking about Kokomo and what it is, where it is, what it would look like - it's not a real island, but I think it's more a state of mind. Like Wonderland. 

What, in this crazy world where we often feel like the White Rabbit (I'm late, I'm late!) and the thought of an island vacation sends a shiver of panic through our bank accounts, have Wonderland and Kokomo got to do with anything? These places, while they evoke vivid mental images, are states of mind that we are meant to channel, and on a regular basis. 

Wonderland: the place where the willing suspension of disbelief is the M.O., where we don't let the complexities or the doubters get in the way. There is no such "impossibility" for the wild-running human imagination.

Kokomo: a soothing escape to get away from the stresses and turmoil of the "real world" - wherever that escape may be.

Wonderland and Kokomo may not be "real" destinations that we can find on Google Maps or check in at on social media, but they are destinations that exist in our minds, which I think is even cooler. These stories that are told to us through Alice in Wonderland and the Beach Boys' hit song are meant to show us not only the possibility, but the necessity to channel these states of mind and not let them go unvisited. By doing so, we would be missing out on part of our human nature - at least I think so. How lucky are we to be part of a species that can travel to another place and time using nothing but our imaginations? It makes the hair on my arms stand up and is probably one of the reasons why I rarely get bored.

For now, I'm off - hope to see you on the other side of the rabbit hole.