To begin, I don't hope to accomplish anything by writing this blog. I don't expect anyone to read it, I just want to think and process and put my reflections on something and not someone. Thus, it begins- my first nonrunning related blog. I think my attempt (as is evident by the title), is to be honest, mostly to myself, and since there is no audience, no players, no games, this should not be difficult. So, the journey.
I woke up Friday morning and almost convinced myself not to go to New York for the weekend in exchange for a few hours of sleep. I had planned the trip for 2 of the reasons that I plan most things: 1. I didn't know what else to do with myself and 2. My friend wanted me to. #1 seemed to be countered by the obvious new thing to do: sleep, and #2 seemed irrelevant as I cursed myself for my lack of self direction, inability to say no and guilt complex.
Several hours of dart, septa and bolt bus later (compounded by 2 previous students, a man far more interested in his step sister than his baby mama, an overfriendly dude who shook my hand 3 times, asked my name twice and rambled on and on, an elderly woman who's shoulder i mistook for a pillow, and countless people who seemed to think I would know my way around the area), I was in New York. I always congratulate myself privately on how well I take it all in when traveling with different kinds of people on public transportation, until I realize that many of these folks can do the same without thinking or self praise. That makes me sad to know that I'm only as accepting as the people who fed me the mentality, and it feels like complete lack of progress when I'm feeling pessimistic and self critical, and irrelevant when in high spirits. Friday was an in between day.
Shortly after arriving, I put on the old shoes and went for a run along the river. Sarah wasn't terribly happy that I was going for a run as the very first activity of our weekend, but running is one thing that I won't sacrifice to make anyone happy. It was a great run.
First of all, you can't imagine how wonderful it feels to run along droves and droves of people and be among them, and not care if you're wobbly or sweaty, or slow because they dont KNOW you, and you could just be that sweaty wobbly slow girl to them, and it wouldn't matter. I love running because at it's purist, it is the one place I can be among people, being utterly selfish and quiet, and not feel like I owe it to anyone to talk or slow down. I ran fast along the water, weaving in and out of people, sometimes making a game of catching who I could see, and sometimes settling into my own rhythm and losing sight of people feet away.
When I got to what I guessed was about 5 miles out, I turned and ran back into the wind, back across the pier to where a breakdancing troupe was about to perform. I stopped to watch, because it felt more important than refusing to break my run, and only started again when they began collecting money and I felt guilty for watching, sweaty and with obviously no intention of contributing. I finished the 10 miles and sat on Sarah's floor for a long time, not wanting to get the chairs sweaty. Oddly enough, I love the freedom of not showering immediatley after a run, being happier than anything just to drink cold water, or even water from the tap. Maybe it's also because I can't smell.
At night, I dressed up a little just because I'm superficial sometimes, and we went to see the Empire State Building. The weirdest thing about that place is that you are walking along right next to it, watching the shops pass you by: Starbucks, At&t, Strawberry... and then suddenly, you remember when you searched to see what's REALLY in that huge building and realize that you're looking at the bottem of it. Over and over they warned us that the wait was up to an hour and 45 minutes to get to the top, which would indicate that the entire trip (time on the observation deck and to get back down included) would be around 3-3.5 hrs. Do you ever hear a number like that and think about how you could make it more efficient? It's a hard feeling to describe, but it's similar to when you're consciously trying to enjoy or appreciate a painting in a museum. Then you realize that it's supposed to be for entertainment, and that you just have a tendency to consider everything a chore. Maybe this is just something I experience, who knows. It might be part of my general high regard for productivity, even when its unnecessary. (By this, I only mean my own, I neither judge nor care about other's productivity levels)
An hour and a half later, we were in the elevator, heading up. I thought I had accidentally pressed floor 80 (our final destination was 86), but in fact, you stop on 80, where you have the choice of walking to the top or waiting another 15 minutes and riding the elevator for the remaining 6 flights. You can probably guess which one I chose. Six flights later, we came out of the stairs, half panting to the puzzled looks of people waiting to go down, who asked us first where we were from (a common question, oddly) and if we had climbed the entire tower. I didn't think quickly enough to say yes.
Once you leave the confines of the building and go out onto the observation deck, you enter a whole different world. It was windy and cool, a clear night with the stars blinking almost as brightly as the lights of the city. I couldn't have been more glad that I hadn't purchased a map that would tell me what everything I was looking at was, but I did wish I was wearing shorts or pants instead of a dress (or at least different underwear). The thing is, what the buildings actually are is just about as relevant as who the people are who are surrounding you or shoving you when you're up there. It isn't about the ability you have to see many specific famous things at once, its about the sheer mass of things to see, each presumably important, but so small, a huge city reduced to lights and shapes in the partial darkness.
And, when you stand on top of the empire state building staring out on all this, somehow, no matter how much you can see, and how many people and places and cars and lights and buildings and famous places, you still sometimes think of someone, one person. Or two, or three or maybe everyone who is important in your life, but the magnitude, realistically, is so much tinier than that huge city and all those lights. And that is why standing on top of the empire state building is the nicest lonely feeling possible. Because, even though it is sad that you are thinking of someone or someones, perhaps missing them or not knowing how to fix things, or even what ever happened in the end, or if it is the end, it is still more important (so much more important), than all those fancy places and people and things that are at your fingertips. And, if you imagine that person or persons and where they are and what they are doing at that very moment, they seem physically so much bigger than all those tiny specks that are cars driving along all those winding lines that are streets. And so, it is a hopeful lonely.
I found Sarah again, and muttered something to her about what it must have been like to be Meg Ryan or Tom Hanks, and be on the tower by yourself. The man/guy next to me and turned, and said "I was just thinking that, but of course I would be Hanks, not much of a choice for me there" with a slight chuckle. I laughed, and we briefly chatted about the 'film' as he called it, him in a British accent, and me with a cloudy memory of sleepless in seattle. As Sarah walked away, we faced the city again in silence. He turned to me and said, "And all i could say was hello". I smiled at him. A woman a few years older than me must have caught this moment and asked if we wanted our picture taken together, but we just laughed. We laughed because he wasn't saying it to me, he was saying it to some girl, who maybe I reminded him of, or because I was a friendly face, or maybe because I also looked the hopeful kind of sad. And I wasn't smiling at him because I was thinking about what he would be like to get to really know either, I was smiling because he had made fun of me for saying I could be Hanks or Ryan, and because he had said it was a beautiful film, and because he seemed to understand. So, we walked away, and when I ran into him on the other side of the tower, I looked down, not out of awkwardness, but because I wanted him to be anonymous, like the other blinking lights of the buildings and all the other strangers on the deck.
When we went down the elevator, almost 20 people crammed inside, some quiet and thoughtful, others touristy and bubbly, despite the late hour. I'm claustrophobic and pressed myself against the sides with my eyes closed. I couldn't hear the doors shut, but there was silence as they did, and our 80 floor descent was silent as well. Once the doors reopned, the unspoken rule was broken, and we left.
I prefer to leave these places, often immediatley. I don't want to walk through a gift shop, or check out my photo, or take pictures of the lobby. Sarah didn't feel the same way, so we did a little of both. The trip could not have been more opposite from a let down.
I woke early this morning to run again, though the bed felt like it was swallowing me up, and I only wanted to let it suck away the pain in my legs from standing in line for hours the night before. The run was cool and shorter, maybe 7 miles, a mere precursor for enjoying the rest of the day.
I need to end this entry here because I'm falling asleep. Maybe I will begin this blog a day behind, it seems only fitting based on the author.
