Have you noticed how unhappy everyone looks in the morning on their way to work? The next time you're among people during their daily commute, take a look around. You won't be surrounded by a sea of smiling faces. Nobody will be leading a group sing-a-long. And nobody, I guarantee not one person, will be standing there, arms outstretched declaring to all "Yes! It's a beautiful day! I get to go to work!"
Instead, you'll be surrounded by people who are half-asleep, unhappy about being dragged out from under the covers and forced to go through their morning getting-ready-for-work routines. You' re very likely to hear at least a couple people murmur "I wish I was back in bed." If you're on a train or bus, some people around you will have their eyes closed. Some people, despite the early morning hour, will smell of alcohol, as if a little gin was the only way for them to get out the door. Others simply look like they want to kill someone. Hopefully that someone isn't you.
How did this happen?
Remember when you were little and some adult would come along and ask "What do you want to be when you grow up?" You'd proudly puff out your chest and declare "I want to be a fireman" or "I'm going to be a teacher". You were so sure that your profession of choice was going to be fast-paced and exciting. You looked forward to being an adult and reaching the age when you'd be driving that fire truck, sirens wailing, rushing off to save some lives. Or you'd be standing at the front of the class bringing the joys of the alphabet to a room filled with eager minds and happy faces.
So, what would have happened if back then, someone told you the truth?
"Well, Johnny, it's cute and all that you want to be a fireman, but let's face it, that's not going to happen. You cry when you trip over your own feet and fall down, so the likelihood you'll be running into a burning building is pretty much nil. Your adult life will really be something closer to office drone. You'll sit at a desk and crunch numbers that you don't understand on a daily basis. You'll write a lot of reports that no one will read. Someone younger but better educated will be promoted to be your boss. The brightest spot of your day will be the mid-afternoon trip to the candy machine in the cafeteria which will add about twenty pounds to your middle and cause your cholesterol to soar. And just as you begin to reach the age of retirement and you think you'll finally have some time to enjoy your life, the company will go belly up and you'll find yourself broke and unemployable."
Just how do we change from those young, bright-eyed children, so anxious to face the future and pursue our dreams into the tired, cranky adults who simply want to sleep in on a Monday morning?
Something, choice or circumstance, led us all to where we are and to what we do. Maybe you're a janitor who wanted to be an astronaut. Or a dental assistant that wanted to be a dancer. Or a nurse that wanted to be an entertainer. And maybe the jobs you had aren't the jobs of your dreams but they still manage to give us something: the ability to provide for familes, a little extra money to enjoy an annual vacation or to take that cooking class.
Maybe, just maybe, during that morning commute, instead of focusing on what you're giving up in order to go to work ("If only I didn't have to go to work I could have slept for a couple more hours.") you can focus on what you're getting instead. Think about the good stuff whenever possible. Try and remember that trudging into work does lead to that upcoming Mexican vacation or the afternoon at the amusement park or simply to keeping that roof over your head and food in your belly.
And also, remember that child who once dreamed of being something that you might not have become. That kid is still there, somewhere. That child didn't focus on what he/she'd be paid or on how their feet might hurt after too much standing. They didn't think about office politics or getting promotions or feeling unappreciated. They picked a profession based solely on the thought of how much they'd love doing it. And there's no reason to not indulge them whenever possible.
If you're that janitor-but-really-an-astronaut, keep looking at the stars and dreaming what it would be like to be among them. Get a telescope and take a closer look. Devour every news story of voyages into space and enjoy the photos being taken of planets we have never visited before. If you're that dental assistant-but-really-a-dancer, take a class in the samba or ballroom dancing. Go out at night and enjoy the sounds of the band or the DJ and hit the dance floor whenever possible. And if you're that nurse-but-really-an-entertainer, take any opportunity to pull out that karaoke machine with your friends, stand up there with the microphone in hand and sing as loudly as you please.
Sunday, September 21, 2008
Saturday, September 13, 2008
Lucky
I am a lucky man.
When I look at my life so far, it would be difficult to call it anything other than a good one. From the outside, my life probably looks rather ordinary. Childhood in a small town. An adulthood spent as one among the millions in and around New York City. Periods of sadness and long periods of simple, ordinary life. Repetitive days leading to repetitive weeks. People have died and others have been born. Friendships have begun, some have continued, others have ended.
I'm not sure if it's age or circumstance or what, but lately I've preferred to take a step back and give it all a good look. And I have to say, I've been blessed with a definite "half-full" existence.
I grew up in a small Massachusetts town and headed to New York at the age of 25. New York back then, was thrilling and amazing. And it still is. I love standing in the middle of Times Square at night, the neon all ablaze, people running in every direction and my body feeling every pulse of the city. I love the diversity. I love the fact that I interact every day with people of every color and every nationality. I love walking down the street and hearing different languages spoken. I love the fact I know how to easily navigate the streets of New York without hesitation. And, although technically I now live just outside the city in Jersey, I am first and foremost a New Yorker. Not bad for a small town New England boy. I am a lucky man.
In my lifetime, I have survived Catholic school, coming to terms with being gay, the AIDS nightmare, unemployment, widowerhood, loneliness, grief and more than a few gray hairs. Death has been too familiar at times. I have lost friends, a sibling, a parent and a partner. Like so many others, I was in downtown Manhattan on 9/11 and will never forget the events of that horrible day. In times when I thought I didn't know what to do next, something, and often someone, came along and helped me get back on my feet. I am a lucky man.
I haven't always known what it was I wanted to do to make a living. But somehow, I always seem to manage to make one. I have been on stage and on television. I have been interviewed for news programs around the world. I have met celebrities. I have done work where the outcome, hopefully, helps someone. I have done work that makes children smile. And, unbelievably, someone pays me for it. I am a lucky man.
In my 46 years I have learned to blow my own horn. I can hem a pair of pants and sew a button on a shirt. I can cook a halfway decent meal. I bake some damn good cookies. I manage to pay the bills, take care of the house and get the dog to the vet for her shots on a regular basis. I can paint a wall, hammer a nail and iron a shirt. I am a lucky man.
I am surrounded by amazing family and friends. When I need someone, someone is there. And I can only hope I manage to offer even half as much as I'm given. I have my health, I have my sense of humor and I still have all my teeth. I am a lucky man.
And, most astoundingly, I have been in love and been loved in return.
I am a lucky man.
When I look at my life so far, it would be difficult to call it anything other than a good one. From the outside, my life probably looks rather ordinary. Childhood in a small town. An adulthood spent as one among the millions in and around New York City. Periods of sadness and long periods of simple, ordinary life. Repetitive days leading to repetitive weeks. People have died and others have been born. Friendships have begun, some have continued, others have ended.
I'm not sure if it's age or circumstance or what, but lately I've preferred to take a step back and give it all a good look. And I have to say, I've been blessed with a definite "half-full" existence.
I grew up in a small Massachusetts town and headed to New York at the age of 25. New York back then, was thrilling and amazing. And it still is. I love standing in the middle of Times Square at night, the neon all ablaze, people running in every direction and my body feeling every pulse of the city. I love the diversity. I love the fact that I interact every day with people of every color and every nationality. I love walking down the street and hearing different languages spoken. I love the fact I know how to easily navigate the streets of New York without hesitation. And, although technically I now live just outside the city in Jersey, I am first and foremost a New Yorker. Not bad for a small town New England boy. I am a lucky man.
In my lifetime, I have survived Catholic school, coming to terms with being gay, the AIDS nightmare, unemployment, widowerhood, loneliness, grief and more than a few gray hairs. Death has been too familiar at times. I have lost friends, a sibling, a parent and a partner. Like so many others, I was in downtown Manhattan on 9/11 and will never forget the events of that horrible day. In times when I thought I didn't know what to do next, something, and often someone, came along and helped me get back on my feet. I am a lucky man.
I haven't always known what it was I wanted to do to make a living. But somehow, I always seem to manage to make one. I have been on stage and on television. I have been interviewed for news programs around the world. I have met celebrities. I have done work where the outcome, hopefully, helps someone. I have done work that makes children smile. And, unbelievably, someone pays me for it. I am a lucky man.
In my 46 years I have learned to blow my own horn. I can hem a pair of pants and sew a button on a shirt. I can cook a halfway decent meal. I bake some damn good cookies. I manage to pay the bills, take care of the house and get the dog to the vet for her shots on a regular basis. I can paint a wall, hammer a nail and iron a shirt. I am a lucky man.
I am surrounded by amazing family and friends. When I need someone, someone is there. And I can only hope I manage to offer even half as much as I'm given. I have my health, I have my sense of humor and I still have all my teeth. I am a lucky man.
And, most astoundingly, I have been in love and been loved in return.
I am a lucky man.
Sunday, September 7, 2008
Those People
I'm hardly what anyone would call an athlete, armchair or otherwise. If pressed, I can probably come up with only about a half dozen names of professional sports teams. I can't catch a baseball. A few years ago, during a "subway series" of the Mets vs. the Yankees, someone said to me "It must be a very exciting time in New York" to which I could only reply, "Why is that?" I don't know how to dribble a basketball or hit a tennis ball. I don't know an A-Rod from a fishing rod. And other than 'don't let the very large men pile up on top of you', I don't understand the rules of football.
In high school (why does so much of life somehow bring us back to high school?) I went all four years without attending even one gym class. Not once. Every week when I was supposed to be down in the gym, throwing a ball or participating in some sport that I had no idea how to play, I'd quietly head to the school library, pick out a book and hope no one would notice. It was much safer among the bookshelves than heading down to the dangerous territory of the gymnasium, where the much feared competitve sports would be followed by the much more feared being the gay boy in the group showers.
So, since I've never considered myself an athlete, it comes as an enormous surpise that at the age of 46, I find I've somewhat joined their ranks. Last Tuesday at 5:45 AM, I was heading out the door with my running shoes on and bottle of water in my hand to do a 4-mile run. I got a glimpse of myself in the mirror as I passed and it occurred to me. I've become one of, as I call them "those people".
You've seen "those people". You're driving along through a rainstorm when over there, along the side of the road you see a lone person determinedly running, apparently oblivious to the fact that they're getting soaked. Or, you head out one morning before the sun has had the chance to come up and as you wipe the sleep from your eyes and curse the fates for forcing you out of your warm bed when you hear the slap-slap-slapping sound of two sneakers as they hit the ground, attached to the feet of a runner getting in their early morning jog. And when that happens you probably do what I do, shake your head and mutter to yourself "What's wrong with those people?"
You may have even exchanged greetings with one of them. Usually they're overly upbeat and fast in calling out a cheery "Good morning" in between quick intakes of breath as they run on, giving a little wave. They most likely add something along the lines of "It's a beautiful day, isn't it?" And before you've had the chance to even grunt a reply, or purposely trip them, they've disappeared down the street and around the corner, radiating good health and good fortune. Trust me, I know how you feel. I don't trust "those people". I've often believed they exist for the sole purpose of making me feel fat. I like to curse at them while cradling a couple dozen chocolate chip cookies and a few bags of chips.
I was very comfortable with my dislike of "those people". Which is exactly what makes it so hard to admit that I have somehow evolved into one. It started innocently. I signed up for a running class back in the spring, to do something healthy for myself. It was supposed to be easy and temporary. I certainly never expected it to last very long, especially since it would be going up against my great love of lying on the couch and doing absolutely nothing.
But the class led to a 3-mile race back in May and that race led to a gradual ability to run for 2 miles straight. Soon, 2 miles became 3 miles became 4 miles and soon will become 5 miles. Four times a week you will find this middle aged man on the side of the road, no matter what the weather, running. And hard as it is to admit, I find myself enjoying it. I have moments when I even allow myself to think that maybe "those people" have been on to something all along.
Difficult as it is, I've had to stop sneering and muttering at them.You can't exactly make snide comments about a group of people once you've realized that you're one of them. But luckily, a few days ago, a friend of mine came along and innocently mentioned his love of camping. "It's great," he said. "Sleeping under the stars and the quiet of the woods."
Campers, sheesh. Sleeping bags, tents, campfires and wildlife. Something's definitely wrong with those people.
In high school (why does so much of life somehow bring us back to high school?) I went all four years without attending even one gym class. Not once. Every week when I was supposed to be down in the gym, throwing a ball or participating in some sport that I had no idea how to play, I'd quietly head to the school library, pick out a book and hope no one would notice. It was much safer among the bookshelves than heading down to the dangerous territory of the gymnasium, where the much feared competitve sports would be followed by the much more feared being the gay boy in the group showers.
So, since I've never considered myself an athlete, it comes as an enormous surpise that at the age of 46, I find I've somewhat joined their ranks. Last Tuesday at 5:45 AM, I was heading out the door with my running shoes on and bottle of water in my hand to do a 4-mile run. I got a glimpse of myself in the mirror as I passed and it occurred to me. I've become one of, as I call them "those people".
You've seen "those people". You're driving along through a rainstorm when over there, along the side of the road you see a lone person determinedly running, apparently oblivious to the fact that they're getting soaked. Or, you head out one morning before the sun has had the chance to come up and as you wipe the sleep from your eyes and curse the fates for forcing you out of your warm bed when you hear the slap-slap-slapping sound of two sneakers as they hit the ground, attached to the feet of a runner getting in their early morning jog. And when that happens you probably do what I do, shake your head and mutter to yourself "What's wrong with those people?"
You may have even exchanged greetings with one of them. Usually they're overly upbeat and fast in calling out a cheery "Good morning" in between quick intakes of breath as they run on, giving a little wave. They most likely add something along the lines of "It's a beautiful day, isn't it?" And before you've had the chance to even grunt a reply, or purposely trip them, they've disappeared down the street and around the corner, radiating good health and good fortune. Trust me, I know how you feel. I don't trust "those people". I've often believed they exist for the sole purpose of making me feel fat. I like to curse at them while cradling a couple dozen chocolate chip cookies and a few bags of chips.
I was very comfortable with my dislike of "those people". Which is exactly what makes it so hard to admit that I have somehow evolved into one. It started innocently. I signed up for a running class back in the spring, to do something healthy for myself. It was supposed to be easy and temporary. I certainly never expected it to last very long, especially since it would be going up against my great love of lying on the couch and doing absolutely nothing.
But the class led to a 3-mile race back in May and that race led to a gradual ability to run for 2 miles straight. Soon, 2 miles became 3 miles became 4 miles and soon will become 5 miles. Four times a week you will find this middle aged man on the side of the road, no matter what the weather, running. And hard as it is to admit, I find myself enjoying it. I have moments when I even allow myself to think that maybe "those people" have been on to something all along.
Difficult as it is, I've had to stop sneering and muttering at them.You can't exactly make snide comments about a group of people once you've realized that you're one of them. But luckily, a few days ago, a friend of mine came along and innocently mentioned his love of camping. "It's great," he said. "Sleeping under the stars and the quiet of the woods."
Campers, sheesh. Sleeping bags, tents, campfires and wildlife. Something's definitely wrong with those people.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)