Last week’s post was about our week in NYC. This was the same week the CEO of UnitedHealthcare was assassinated. That scene took place less then one mile from our hotel. Later that morning, we walked Central Park—where the gunman rode a bike to escape. The city continued on. We felt safe. But it is surreal to realize a world-wide news event happened while we were less than a 10 minute walk away. And we always walk in New York—when we’re not in their subway system.
Sometimes we ask others who travel or live in other places (places never where we live) if they feel safe “there.” I’ve been to Mexico, Germany, Prague, Amsterdam, Texas, Florida, Los Angeles, San Francisco, Boise. Other places too. Sometimes a place has a reputation that causes one to pause before considering a visit. New York is one of those places. I’ve usually felt safe in New York, but I’ve also always been more alert—my amygdala’s natural response to an unfamiliar environment. The “fight, flight, freeze” mechanism that is our instinctual, evolutionary remnant aimed to keep us safe so we can pass on our genes, activated. New York can also lull you into a state of comfortable security. Even on the subway—I wrote last week I love the subways there. Case in point: as we checked out of our hotel, we walked less than one block to descend onto the E-train towards JFK Airport (Starbuck lattes in hand btw). We scanned in the fare from our phones (cost: $2.90). We boarded a full subway car that eventually emptied out. Along the way, a group of four men entered with music playing from a duffle bag. They introduced themselves aloud and announced they were going to put on a dance performance for us…
this happens! It’s a part of the cultural scene in NY but especially in the underground subway system. New Yorkers are indifferent, if not a little (or more), annoyed to these interruptions of their preferred, self-imposed “solitude amidst the multitude” attitude (which is actually their aptitude). On various rides, I’ve witnessed sermons, guitar playing, singing, and, yep, dancing. Most of the time, it’s quiet even when the car is maxed to capacity.
An aside about cell phones: I’ve made a point lately to be very mindful of my cell phone use and how it takes me away from being present to the moment that is right in front of me. This has allowed me to bear witness to how cell phones have impacted the way we move, inhabit shared spaces, relate to one another (or not), and intentionally impose a cone of silence around ourselves. To say nothing of what you can learn from an over-heard phone conversation—it used to be we’d worry about a person’s mental health when we heard them talking aloud to themselves. In a Central Park walk, I heard way too many phone conversations from people using their ear buds, walking alone and talking out loud, louder than they likely thought they were, when they maybe should have been enjoying being in a more natural space. But that’s my judgment.They get to do them—I don’t begrudge that. But I can still be a little sad about it. I’d wave and say hi to some since we could walk right directly past each other, me not realizing they were in an ear-budded convo as they walk past oblivious to my attempt to connect with no wave or recognition at all.
Anyway, the dancers…they performed for two stops. One of the dancers was a traditional break dancer (not easy to do in a subway aisle as the train sways and moves along the tracks); another had a rather good moon walk. The third was able to do some impressive moves that proved he had to have been “double jointed” in his shoulders and elbows. The MC, because of course they had an MC, was charismatic. Here’s the thing—I watched them; but I might have been the only one in the car who did, a car that had roughly 40 people in it. And the dancers didn’t care. That’s how this plays out hour after hour in a NY subway. Yes, the MC walked around with a hat for us to “offer our generous appreciation for this public performance of their art.” There might have been two or three people who offered them a buck or two (for the record, I was one of them!). They weren’t “in our face” intrusive—but they were in the space. You can bet they were just trying to make a buck—they weren’t angry, they weren’t delusional, they weren’t mental, they weren’t threatening, they weren’t scamming us or denying us coverage or capitalizing on insider trading or lobbying us for tax cuts or trying to take away our social security (oh…a clever play on words there, I just realized!); and you can bet they weren’t billionaires—unless they hid it very well. At the second stop, they all four got off and hustled down the station to get on another car for their next performance. Just another afternoon down under the streets above.
As things quieted back down, and the E-train rambled on, a Latina mom, likely someone who works two jobs (who wasn’t mental, wasn’t angry, wasn’t denying coverage…well, you get it), quietly walked the aisle with a tray of candy should anyone want to buy one from her (for the record, I didn’t. She likely didn’t have vegan options for me anyway even if I was interested.) Having no takers that I saw, she quietly sat back down and immersed herself back into her own cell phone. Down under the streets above is a whole different culture, a whole different economy, and a whole different world.
A short aside here: whenever I see a homeless person, or person begging for money or food, even silently, on a sidewalk, like many of you I’m sure, I have a physical response inside my body. The urge is to not look, to walk on, to avoid, to “not see.” Often the lyrics to Bruce Hornsby’s song “That’s Just the Way It Is,” or Phil Collins’ “Another Day In Paradise,” surface in my mind—proof that I cannot NOT know what I know. Before the trip, I made a commitment to be different on this trip.
I was walking a sidewalk down a block that didn’t have much going on—so people are more likely faced to notice each other rather than what’s happening in the various shops one can look into for distraction. I noticed ahead a thin, youngish black man with a coat not suitable to keep out the cold we were experiencing, asking passersby for any spare change (who carries spare change nowadays? Heck, who carries paper money nowadays? Makes me even wonder now how things get even harder for some people, too many people, who try to rely upon the kindness of others in this way).
As I approached, we made eye contact.
“Excuse me sir, any chance you have a dollar for me? It would mean a lot.” So many are polite this way…”sir” he said.
I took a few more steps then stopped. I backtracked to him and asked him his name.
“What?” he said, sure that this caught him off guard because I’m also sure he’s never asked for his name.
“Christian,” he said, after a slight pause. “My name is Christian.”
“I’m Kert, Christian” handing him a couple dollars I had in my wallet. Our hands touched, skin to skin for the briefest of moments as he took the money. “Please take care, okay? Stay warm.”
“Thank you, you too. This means a lot, man.”
Maybe he was talking about the two dollars; maybe it was because our hands touched; maybe it was because I asked him his name; maybe it was because I actually paused and saw him.
In any case, HE thanked ME. He thanked me not realizing he helped me stay in touch with my compassionate heart. Losing touch with it is easy to do in a place as anonymous as NYC. Hell, losing touch with it is to easy to do in a place called America nowadays.
For the record, in this country, in the year 2024, we should not be having the homeless epidemics we’re having.
It took us less than 45 minutes to get to JFK from Midtown Manhattan for less than three bucks—plus we had a free dance performance, could have bought a candy bar, finished eating a famous slice of pizza the New York way (my wife did, that is—it was one of my fast days), and had a nice dose of people-watching. Definitely worth the price of admission.
I’ll say again, I’ve always felt safe on NYC subways—have there been annoyances? Of course. Heck, there are annoyances in the Safeway store in my own neighborhood, for goodness sake. In a NYC subway, one gets to bear witness to more of the human nature that graces every other place humans live, breathe, work, play, and die. Same stuff—different context. That is all.
A final note about New York City. As I’ve been working hard to cultivate, back at my home, a sustainable way of living that is respectful of the land (100% organic practices; gardening/landscaping bio-ethically; sustaining our National Wildlife Habitat certification, etc), I wondered as well where all their garbage goes once it gets collected. Yes, the shops and storefronts put out their garbage in sacks and cans right on the sidewalk next to the curb—especially as dusk approaches. Night time is garbage collection time. The garbage there is omnipresent—but not so obtrusive that it is overwhelming. Still, the streets are relatively clean with not all that much litter around; or maybe one gets to a point where you no longer see it. There are ample garbage bins for the public that do get used. As I contemplate how we humans impact each other and the Earth, I contemplate often our consumption of stuff and our production of waste. Of all the species that have ever lived, humans are the only ones whose actions cause lasting harm to the environment and other species. I saved in my Netflix queue the documentary “Buy Now: The Shopping Conspiracy.” I need to watch it soon. You need to watch it too. One cannot imagine the amount of waste produced by one city, this city, let alone the entire country, in just one day. Turns out, so much of it is planned too.
To tie the final knot in this trip’s thread—at our airport gate, I noted an older man with a longish white beard wearing on his head a…(you should guess it)…Santa hat! No doubt intentional. Anyway, he sat opposite me in the window seat across the aisle. It was a later flight so we flew in the dark—the cabin lights were dimmed and most folks were either snoozing, had headphones on, or were immersed in some form of digital entertainment (not as many travelers read books anymore!). About halfway into the trip, fauxSanta turns his seat lamp on and begins to knit. HOW AWESOME IS THAT!!! Were I sitting nearer to him, I would have asked him if he was finishing up some last minute North Pole crafting—you know, for an upcoming solo trip of his. Talk about endearing. It made me smile.
I’m trying to capture and save more instances that provoke smiles in my life.
Projecting:
I intend to send out two more Substack pieces before taking a bit of a digital-detox break. I’ll be doing more of that over the next four years or so too. This post is the 198th Substack essay I’ve produced and sent out into this world’s ether—caught or not by any number of readers—the exact number not a concern of mine at all. I just like this way of writing. The little bits of feedback and comments, even the heart/likes, are the “cherry-on-the-top” compensations that still aren’t as meaningful as just the fact that a few other people continue to take the time to read these words that come through me. All I’m doing is Alchemizing the experiences, as ingredients, to cook up a mindful way of Being.
I don’t think over the span of those essays, over the 2 1/2 years of my presence on Substack, that I’ve ever missed a self-imposed publishing deadline. Self-imposing a break from that will become another experience that is important for me to have and explore as a mindful practice. This writing, in this space, isn’t my identity, so my world’s not going to collapse if I take the rest of December “off.” (The world may very well collapse from other means!) Had I not said anything, I doubt anyone would notice my absence anyway—I’m not sure I notice much if other writers I subscribe to miss any of their intended post targets. (Although I do notice when too much time has elapsed before I do hear from certain special writers with whom I’ve become close.)
There are more “Postcards from the Principal’s Office” in me—and I want to send one more of those to recognize the impact the holiday’s have on schools, students, and staff. It’s a thing, it is.
I also want to capture a couple of cultural experiences my wife and I had recently that are potential signs for optimism. This may come as a Sunday Short this weekend. We need optimism as well as ways to escape from the almost overwhelming noise that is our current societal/political landscape—I’m learning the opportunities do exist. But we must recognize them as such then move toward them and put in effort to experience them.
At times I’ve debated internally whether to stop writing completely here on Substack. This leads me often to think about purpose. Why do this? Why am I writing and posting on a platform where so many others are doing the same thing? More and more celebrities are migrating to Substack—people who come with an already established and large audience. Are their words more relevant and important than mine? Sometimes I think they think it is. But I know they’re wrong. In these moments of melancholic reflection, I think about these words from Walt Whitman:
“The question, O me! so sad, recurring—What good amid these, O me, O life?
Answer:
That you are here—that life exists and identity! That the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse.”
So, I don’t compete. I don’t care about subscriber numbers or compensation. I don’t think for a moment anything I write will be read by anyone else let alone valued for any wisdom found within. Any wisdom found within is credited not to me anyway—the reader is always the one to make those connections for themselves. Everyone has the right to “do themselves/be themselves” in this space. Including me. I write for me. This is one of the ways I’m contributing a verse to this glorious thing we call life.
Besides, I am glad to have found this space, this ecosystem of writers and thinkers and seekers and finders. I’ve made very real connections here—and I have been changed by them all. Our collective attempts at contributing verses into the world, into each other’s lives, do have an impact—and that particular impact will be vital to nurture and spread over the next four+ years.
It’s always vital, actually.
…and resting
It’s healthy to disconnect with intention. And this is as good a timing as any since so many people will be pre-occupied with their own drama and stuff over the holiday season. Readership across the entire platform is likely to dip—as it usually does during the holidays. When those two posts are sent within the next week, I’m gifting time away to myself to explore other areas of my life (looking forward to reducing the number of books on my TBR shelf for one thing!).
At some point in January, I’ll be back. If you notice, I’ll be grateful—as I always am. Regardless, I’m looking forward to the growth that will occur in me as I continue the Alchemy of my journey into the year 2025!
PS: See that Live, Laugh, and Love there? It has been one year since I wrote that post and it’s been linked on just about every post of mine this past year. That towel is still on my desk. Though I’m planning to delete those words and the link from my signature lines in favor of something different for the coming year, the sentiment and mission behind them are as important as ever now.
“Live every moment; Laugh everyday; Love with all your heart.“
Though my days get busy and I may miss a post or two I look forward to your writing, Kert. I appreciate the way you see the world and write about your observations. I enjoyed the details and images and feelings about your visit to NY. The knitting ending was perfect.
Such a fun read Kert. I will share a few stories that came to mind as I read.
First, the time my husband and I were riding the locals train in Cuba and noticed someone get on with a couple buckets. Everyone crowded around them. What is it? we wondered. Pizza! Bucket pizza! And then at the train stop, women were walking around with fancy cakes to share.
Secondly, I appreciate your comment about the visceral sensation that comes up when faced with a fellow human experiencing poverty, and the gift you received in connecting with Christian. Every time I go to the college where I teach, I ride my bike through the city's main area of homelessness. The sidewalks are filled with tents (and shopping carts, and clothing, and RIP graffiti for those lost to overdose, and stray socks and shoes, etc). The bike path is physically part of their community so I have to be a little more alert when folks stumble across the path. Many people there are very polite, and many are very distressed. It is an experience that I revisit a couple times a week and more than I can adequately process in my human heart. It touches my son's heart too and last year he chose to create a care package for a particular woman we often see. We carried the care package in our car for over a month and never saw her again. One day we chose to give it to an older man we saw. I hope his toes were warmer that night at very least and I hope his heart was a little warmer too.
Though my days get busy and I may miss a post or two I look forward to your writing, Kert. I appreciate the way you see the world and write about your observations. I enjoyed the details and images and feelings about your visit to NY. The knitting ending was perfect.
Such a fun read Kert. I will share a few stories that came to mind as I read.
First, the time my husband and I were riding the locals train in Cuba and noticed someone get on with a couple buckets. Everyone crowded around them. What is it? we wondered. Pizza! Bucket pizza! And then at the train stop, women were walking around with fancy cakes to share.
Secondly, I appreciate your comment about the visceral sensation that comes up when faced with a fellow human experiencing poverty, and the gift you received in connecting with Christian. Every time I go to the college where I teach, I ride my bike through the city's main area of homelessness. The sidewalks are filled with tents (and shopping carts, and clothing, and RIP graffiti for those lost to overdose, and stray socks and shoes, etc). The bike path is physically part of their community so I have to be a little more alert when folks stumble across the path. Many people there are very polite, and many are very distressed. It is an experience that I revisit a couple times a week and more than I can adequately process in my human heart. It touches my son's heart too and last year he chose to create a care package for a particular woman we often see. We carried the care package in our car for over a month and never saw her again. One day we chose to give it to an older man we saw. I hope his toes were warmer that night at very least and I hope his heart was a little warmer too.
Enjoy your winter rest and digital detox.