Save me, Status Quoman!
I reread parts of my collected Katherine Mansfield stories recently. I'd forgotten much of "Bliss," and was startled to see how relevant it has become, in certain circumstances. Like when my husband has an affair with a blond woman on whom I have an ambiguous crush.
But really, I had begun to wonder about what happens when the extraordinary becomes status quo. It seems as if incredible things happen regularly, at least every other day if not every day, during some stretches of time. Extraordinary can be simple, something like finding comfort and communal enjoyment in watching an old musical in Bryant Park or tasting the first really amazing peach of the season or stumbling across live Cajun music while jogging along the Hudson. Or it can be a bit more structured, like canoeing down the Bronx River or eating ice cream in eveningwear on the Brooklyn Heights Promenade or learning a new song on the mandolin.
I guess New York is just extraordinary. The strange thing is that I feel myself getting bored sometimes. Vani thinks maybe it means I just need a down weekend, one in which absolutely nothing happens, and then the extraordinary will reflect truer levels. She may be right, but lately the ordinary seems incredibly exciting moreso than the extraordinary. I've been almost nervous at work, feverishly productive and excited for no apparent reason. I see new interns and interviewees come through and I guess part of me is channeling their hope and nerve that I felt a year ago. This morning when I galloped down the stoop (suddenly it's ordinary to have a stoop) everything was dark. It was relatively ordinary for the weather to be overcast, but so extraordinary for the early morning that I felt that same kind of inexplicable Bliss welling up in me. Then the skies opened up, my umbrella turned inside out, some techies loading in the New Martin Short play joshed me, and I made friends with a Polish man named Thomas, who huddled with me under my umbrella until we had to duck under a Times Square awning to keep from warshing away. He offered me a cigarette. I almost accepted, just for the sheer novelty of it. By the time I got to work I was soaked to the hip. I had to change into my yoga pants for the entire morning while my jeans dried on my neighbor's area heater. They were ready just in time for me to wear them for a group photo in our company t-shirts. (Dorks.)
North Florida rain in New York City is just the right combination of ordinary and extraordinary. Bliss.
I was thinking of how selfish it is to think any of this at all, especially now as the world seems to be falling apart. I thought it was falling apart more than usual about this time last year, maybe a few months later, but the last few weeks have trumped last summer. A giant Indonesian tsunami barely makes front page. What is going on on this here blue rock?
I guess one should splash in ones puddles while one may. Off to a folk festival upstate. End transmission.
But really, I had begun to wonder about what happens when the extraordinary becomes status quo. It seems as if incredible things happen regularly, at least every other day if not every day, during some stretches of time. Extraordinary can be simple, something like finding comfort and communal enjoyment in watching an old musical in Bryant Park or tasting the first really amazing peach of the season or stumbling across live Cajun music while jogging along the Hudson. Or it can be a bit more structured, like canoeing down the Bronx River or eating ice cream in eveningwear on the Brooklyn Heights Promenade or learning a new song on the mandolin.
I guess New York is just extraordinary. The strange thing is that I feel myself getting bored sometimes. Vani thinks maybe it means I just need a down weekend, one in which absolutely nothing happens, and then the extraordinary will reflect truer levels. She may be right, but lately the ordinary seems incredibly exciting moreso than the extraordinary. I've been almost nervous at work, feverishly productive and excited for no apparent reason. I see new interns and interviewees come through and I guess part of me is channeling their hope and nerve that I felt a year ago. This morning when I galloped down the stoop (suddenly it's ordinary to have a stoop) everything was dark. It was relatively ordinary for the weather to be overcast, but so extraordinary for the early morning that I felt that same kind of inexplicable Bliss welling up in me. Then the skies opened up, my umbrella turned inside out, some techies loading in the New Martin Short play joshed me, and I made friends with a Polish man named Thomas, who huddled with me under my umbrella until we had to duck under a Times Square awning to keep from warshing away. He offered me a cigarette. I almost accepted, just for the sheer novelty of it. By the time I got to work I was soaked to the hip. I had to change into my yoga pants for the entire morning while my jeans dried on my neighbor's area heater. They were ready just in time for me to wear them for a group photo in our company t-shirts. (Dorks.)
North Florida rain in New York City is just the right combination of ordinary and extraordinary. Bliss.
I was thinking of how selfish it is to think any of this at all, especially now as the world seems to be falling apart. I thought it was falling apart more than usual about this time last year, maybe a few months later, but the last few weeks have trumped last summer. A giant Indonesian tsunami barely makes front page. What is going on on this here blue rock?
I guess one should splash in ones puddles while one may. Off to a folk festival upstate. End transmission.