Two, two, three, four. five-six-seven. Six-six-seven.
Exhale.
One, two, three four. fivesixseveneightnine.
Inhale.
Breathing, the fundamental concept of ages of which I’ve become so hyper aware of in moments like these. Just breathe, I tell myself. And so I do, sitting upright in a cab with my silhouette forming a shape that could likely be described as a thin sleeping bag filled with twitching muscle. The overcoat was shapeless in a way that provided some theoretical warmth as demonstrated in a catalog or perhaps by a dismembered department store mannequin. On the inside, I felt like mud and melting glitter and gumdrops all mixed up in a blender set to high.
Note to self: find a therapist in Manhattan. Better than the one back in LA. Maybe two. And a doctor. Oh God. I’ll need an acupuncturist too. What the hell is going to happen to me? I didn’t realize that many of these problems could be solved by first obtaining a proper overcoat. And gloves. My eyes blinked rapidly.
I turned my head to the right and observed the city buzzing by, soaking in the prosaic nostalgia of it all. I felt safer in the cab even if it did smell like take-out.The all-too-familiar sensation of worriment worked the tip of its dull blade on the back of my skull. Anxiety and paranoia, two dear friends, always along for ride.
–
It was an ordinary flight – the same as any other time. The only item of any differentiating significance is that this specific flight happened to be one-way. I mentioned this to my family at Christmas, serving as an emphatic benchmark to the generic version of this story. That was three weeks later, when the best serving sizes boil down to surface-level fodder for entertainment purposes only.
It was also the first time I had flown JetBlue. I appreciated the budget-friendly and no-frills approach of the airline – it was like the typical Virgin America clientele got fed up when “everyone else” found out about their cozy lighting and mood music.
The flight was fine. I read, slept, and watched reruns of Keeping Up With Somebody. Upon arrival I strode purposefully into JFK with a small carry-on suitcase on wheels and an oversized handbag thrown over my shoulder. Headphones and a soundtrack* eased the blow. (*see clip above.)
I tracked down my ridiculously huge suitcase from the baggage claim carousel, very aware of the fact that no one was with me to watch the other belongings as I lugged it from the track.
Families chattered and couples kept close. I silently stacked my things on top of the suitcase and lugged it behind with both hands as I entered the freezing east coast winter weather, navigating my way slowly into the cab line.
It was a Sunday evening, and it was snowing outside. I missed LAX already. I was semi adrift yet hyper aware, the way tourists appear.
–
I rested my head against the cab window, not dissimilar from existing in various states while traveling around New York for work.
Working in music and tech, even during a recession, had its moments of posh. It wasn’t unusual to be flown to various cities for record release parties and events – if only to drink cheap grain alcohol and hobnob over a forgettable collection of music in a somewhat absurd professional way.
I missed it already.
Sure, the level of shadiness could be considered by some to be high, and the backstabbing quality solid. Not that it doesn’t happen elsewhere, but I really had nothing to compare it to.
After some time, likely far past a critical point of being jaded, I did something about it.
I was eager to put these things aside in favor of a different city and industry. For now, at least. Until I figured out what was next.
We can’t necessarily start over in a world of digital media unless we have the ability to engage full-on resistance with decisions powered by nerves of steel. In other words, you need to be stubborn as hell not to check Facebook.
I have a friend, a radio DJ. He plays a diverse range of music like no other, and because he has good taste it works tremendously to his advantage.
He once explained that during his show each time block is like its own little island. “First you stay here and take it in, then you hop to the next island and see what’s happening over there.”
I was ready to see what was happening over there.
As we sped down the freeway and approached the Williamsburg bridge, Manhattan came into view.
And that was the moment.
The moment that took my breath away.
One of those moments that we can’t quite identify until it happens. When your heart wants to fly from your chest and we realize that life is precious and magical and a force collectively ours yet inexplicably beyond our realm of understanding.
I felt excited and wildly alive and full of adrenaline and freedom and silly and scared shitless.
I knew, in that moment, that everything was about to change.