Preparing for the Show

Frankly, I thought today would just end with some quiet tears in my parents' apartment while I shook my fist and pledged to make up for lost time.   In what ways...well, that would take an entirely different blog.  And not just a post or two.  Fitness, of course.  Job, absolutely.  My love life, undoubtably.

Rather then just lazing around my own little 325 square feet of rented contentment, I decided to spend the evening watching cable (a luxury I no longer allow myself) at my parents humble abode.  I hadn't been over in quite a while, so it was fun to wander around the place while they were out of town.  Most of my wandering centered on the pantry, which holds more grocery store bought food in its current state than I have purchased in my adult life.  And it's a very small pantry.

I finally picked a can of chili and allowed my laziness to win over my one earth child tendency and threw it in the microwave--for some reason I have developed an aversion to the thing...it's a combination of the suspicion that it will give me cancer and the certainty that food doesn't taste as good after it comes out of there.  Sometimes I forget how good chili can be.  I mean, seriously.  Delicious.

Unfortunately, in the process of selecting the can, opening it, scooping out, heating it up and applying the proverbial toppings (I substituted cheezit's for the crackers AND the cheese...your welcome), I came face to face with my favorite picture of me and my sisters.

The picture was taken at Grand Lux Cafe about a month after I ran the marathon.  My sisters and mom were on their annual Christmas gift buying weekend and dad and I joined for dinner at the Galleria.  Incidentally, it captured a moment in time where I was at my absolute healthiest since high school.  Not only was I at my lowest weight, but everything (except my hip) was in great shape.  I am confident it is the only picture that has ever been taken where I come close to looking as good as my sisters.

I was already planning a fun trip to Chicago and I knew--and I was right--that it would be one I would remember forever.  My hip surgery was on the horizon, but I wasn't afraid.  I was happy to have a solution that would allow me to run again.

I came directly from work to have dinner with my family and I remember wandering the Christmas Tree Shops next door after that dinner carrying my blackberry in my right hand (you might say my hand fit it like a glove).  I was waiting for it to buzz or blink or whatever it was that it did.  That it always did.  I am willing to bet I showed up late, and was probably the first one to suggest we leave.

The picture is actually just a computer print out.  It was stuck on my parent's fridge.  At an angle.  It's folded and wrinkled from months of soggy hands and residue.  And it made me incredibly sad.

I miss that moment.  Not the blackberry and the hurry, but being over the hump healthwise and not climbing up from the bottom.  I miss the security of the job.  And I miss my friends.  Man I miss my friends.  The immediacy of them.  The availability.

And inevitably my mind wandered to the place where you decide that everything you've done for the past year has been a tremendous mistake.  That you should have stayed the course.  I would still be thin(ner).  I would still have the security if also the blackberry.  I could see the people--family or not--who I love most in this world without a flight across the country.  It all amounted to a singular, horrible, thought.  That I am wasting time.

Needless to say, my trip to my parents house had taken a very dark turn.  Though the chili was delicious, and the tears added just the hint of salt that it had been missing.

The picture.

It was with this mindset that I began the trek home.  Not exactly the happiest I have ever been.

The walk to the Roosevelt Island tram from the apartment is about a mile.  Maybe less.  It's a very pleasant walk if you haven't decided that you're a failure.  Tonight I was in no mood.  I trudged head-down, not wanting to see or talk to anyone.  Much to my annoyance I was followed the entire time by the sounds of construction blasting at random intervals from across the island.  Just what I needed.  More reasons to make me regret my relocation to Manhattan.

I just wanted to get home and be done with the day, but first I had to ride the cable car back across the East River.  I have a gift for missing the tram and getting to "enjoy" a long wait for the next trip.  It's usually about 15 minutes or more if you time it just wrong.  Tonight, for once, I was in luck.  I was there with 4 other people and the tram was built to hold over a hundred.  So I had to roll my eyes a bit when a tiny old woman rammed her walker right in front of all of us so that she could be sure to board first.  New Yorkers.  There was a collective sigh amongst the rest of the crowd that express something between good natured humor and the frustration that we hadn't been trusted to do the right thing regardless of the old lady's place in the crowd.

The conductor took longer than necessary to start the return trip.  So we sat for quite a while, just waiting and listening to the late night ruckus from the construction down the island that had bothered me since I left my parent's building.  I grabbed the seat next to the elderly woman and we sat quietly together rocking gently in the suspended car.  I was just ready to go.

Finally we ascended.  It wasn't until the car had cleared the first set of mid-rise buildings that I had a clear view of the fireworks.  The random booming and explosions that I so easily cursed were, in fact, the highly orchestrated sounds of a pyrotechnics show playing itself out in a field at the end of the island.  The conductor slowed the car a bit, but still most of the riders stared at their phones waiting for them to buzz or blink or whatever they do.  So, I turned to my elderly friend and just pointed.  And we sat there, suspended over the East River, halfway to Manhattan, watching a tiny, but brilliant display.  It was a magical moment.  One that will never be repeated.

I realize that life isn't one long Footprints in the Sand poem.  Not everything gets tied up in a little package with a clever bow and a lesson.  But I do think I was meant to see those fireworks.  I think sometimes we leave one place that is safe and happy and start a new path.  On the way we get bombarded by a lot of distractions and hassled by a lot of noise.  But eventually, if we can stay the course, we get to look back and see that those disruptions were just preparation for the fireworks.  We just have to be a little ways down the road to see that clearly.  And when we can, it's going to be quite a show.

The old lady and I watched until the buildings on the west side blocked our view.  At which point she turned to me and said "Thanks for showing me that.  I think that makes everything better, don't you?'  I couldn't agree more.

The last firework of the night...the pinkish blur on the left.