On those days when I forget to, this song reminds me to breathe.
I’ve been walking down the same street every morning for the past four months to get to work, and each time, I run into the same woman, walking in the opposite direction. She’s always rolling a little suitcase behind her, always staring straight ahead, grim-faced. I have repeatedly tried, and failed, to catch her attention and say ‘Good morning.’ After all, we meet each morning, pretty much at the exact same spot, and we both appear to be the only two pedestrians in a vehicle-crazy city. That gives a sense of kinship, wouldn’t you think? But this woman would have nothing of it. It was as if she was making a point not to look up, or left, or right. She just walked with a kind of angry determination, not allowing anyone or anything distract her from her course. So I stopped trying to say ‘Good morning,’ but I continued to smile, and I felt a strange sense of reassurance every time I would cross paths with her. Then came this morning. On this glorious morning, out of nowhere, my fellow pedestrian finally looked up, gave me a big toothy grin, and, with a slight Jamaican accent, bade me a good morning. She didn’t stop, or slow down, or make any sort of small talk, but that simple greeting was enough to lift my spirits a little bit. I beamed right back at her, and we each carried on our way. It’s a tiny thing, and I know that our friendship, if you can call it that, will never evolve beyond early-morning well-wishes exchanged on the way to work, but the fact that after four months she finally acknowledged my presence somehow made me feel a little better about the world.
Even the New Yorker seems to have jumped on the Anne Hathaway: Love her/Hate her bandwagon. Enough, people. This is getting out of hand.
Leo: This week your brain is going clear up, going to get organized, going to be on your side. You brain will give you the space you need to get weird, to get wild, to write strange and gross stories, to throw away everything that makes you sad. Trust yourself, this week: do everything you want to do. Take a day off work if you can. Go on a trip. Cook something that takes forever. Sit around alone in your house. Clean your bathroom. This is the week to make that dentist appointment you’ve been putting off.
The last 4 lines pretty much sum up what my weekend is going to be all about. Does this mean horoscopes are real?
I don’t know when or what the turning point was for me, but all the asinine things you have to accept (like: walk 40 blocks or pay $20 for a death-defying cab ride or spend an hour figuring out which subway line gets you there and how to get to that line) have dimmed to a low humming nuisance and let everything else that is wonderful to experience bubble gloriously to the top. Now New York is food and music and art and architecture. It’s dancing lights and mysterious steam. It’s sculpted steel and fractured wood and water in the cracks of the sidewalk. It’s wind that teases my hair. It’s the smell of gasoline and pretzels. New York is an out-of-tune church bell right outside my hotel room that banged out a four-minute hymn I did not know every morning at 7AM. And this morning I missed it.
—Dooce hit the nail right on the head this morning.