City

I spent the night in my apartment in the city last night, the first time in a couple of weeks I've slept here. I had to come into town for a co-op board meeting, and tonight I'd planned to have dinner with some friends -- Dave was even going to join us -- but the host cancelled at the last minute, citing illness. So I'll just kill some time doing photography today before heading back to New Jersey.

It's interesting how lifeless my apartment seems now. It doesn't even seem like mine, I've so thoroughly relocated in my head. At the same time, I still have some fear about selling it. I guess that just seems like such a final step.

It's a necessary one, though. Supporting this place when no one lives here is a ridiculously expensive proposition, and I don't want the headaches and drama of being a landlord. My upstairs neighbor just sold her place for what would be a healthy profit, should I get the same price. So that's encouraging.

But make no mistake -- it's scary! It's not that I have any doubts about Dave or our stability -- it's just the continuing realization that indeed, this stage of my life seems to be over.

(Photo: Some seed pods that I keep on my coffee table, and formerly kept on my desk at work. They're from an Ear Tree; I picked them up near my friend Lynn's house in Tampa in the mid-'90s.)

Massage Attack

For Christmas, Dave bought me three gift certificates to a local spa for sports massages. He knows I love a good massage!

When I went to redeem the first of these certificates last weekend, though, I discovered that this was not your typical Swedish-style or deep-tissue massage. In fact, I'm guessing the woman who performed it isn't a licensed massage therapist at all. I think she was flying pretty much by the seat of her pants.

The "spa" is something of a glorified nail salon. (In fact, one of our percs for buying three massages was that we got a free pedicure -- about which more in a moment.) When I got there, I was shown into a small changing room and given a white robe. I was then taken to a room with a massage table, where a middle-aged Asian woman asked me to disrobe and lie face-down.

Most massages seem to involve long strokes, using some kind of oil. In this case, though, the woman began by pressing down on my back and limbs -- at one point she even climbed on my back, with her knees on my butt and her hands on my shoulders. (She didn't speak much English, but she seemed aware that this might be perceived as somewhat strange, because she asked, "OK?" I said sure. I was trying to roll with it.) She did all this pressing through a towel.

Eventually she did get around to removing the towel and applying oil or lotion to my back. But the strokes were not what I've felt with typical Swedish or deep-tissue massages -- shorter, maybe, and more focused. She then bent or stretched my limbs into some surprising poses. (At one point, while I was lying on my back, she pulled my knee up to my chin and then diagonally across my body, and hit my hip joint with her fist. I was like, "Lawsuit!") She put hot towels on my body to remove the excess lotion, and I gotta say, when I left I did not feel oily like I sometimes do after conventional massages.

It wasn't a bad massage -- I did feel good afterwards. I'll certainly redeem my other two certificates, and I appreciate Dave's thoughtfulness in giving them to me. It was just different.

The pedicure was actually pretty great. I'd never had a pedicure before, and I was surprised to find myself one of three men in a room of four customers. The pedicurist soaked my feet, trimmed my cuticles, used a pumice stone on my heels and rubbed lotion on my feet. She asked if I wanted "color," and I politely declined -- but afterwards I thought it would have been pretty funny for me to emerge with pink toenails.

(Photo: Brooklyn, Dec. 2009)

The Alchemist

I just finished reading "The Alchemist," a novel by Brazilian writer Paulo Coelho that's become a sort of spiritual Bible for some people. It's about a poor Spanish shepherd who crosses the deserts of northern Africa in search of treasure. Along the way he meets numerous characters who teach him to listen to his heart and to the universe, and show him how to achieve his destiny.

If that sounds corny, well, it is. The book weaves together elements of many religions and traditions and ultimately it winds up being basically new-agey and trite. Maybe I'm just too cynical, but I didn't get a whole lot out of it. There are some kernels of truth but they're buried under a lot of fuzzy feel-good claptrap -- like the very idea of "listening to your heart." I don't know about your heart, but mine just makes a thumping sound.


Fortunately, it was also a very fast read. It took me a couple of hours to read the whole book. Nothing ventured, nothing gained.

(Photos: Graffiti in Newark, last week. Strange antlered aliens? I have no idea.)

Now, On With Life...

Now that the turmoil of the holidays is past, I'm facing anew all those questions about what to do with my life. It made sense to postpone job searching until after New Year's, because no one would be hiring during the holidays anyway. But now things in the working world are ramping up again, as we all return to life as usual.

So the question is, do I continue to just take it easy for a while, or do I begin searching in earnest? There isn't any compelling financial reason why I can't just take time and relax. My expenses are pretty low (especially if I sell my apartment) and I'm lucky enough to have no pressing financial obligations or responsibilities (like debts, or children or elderly parents who need my support). It's more a question of spending vs. saving the money that I have -- and I'm not talking about doing anything drastic like dipping into my 401K or selling plasma!

I'm thinking I should just pay attention to my own happiness. There will probably come a time when just "hanging out" will no longer be a pleasant option, and I'll feel compelled to find work. But until then, why not just hang out? I'm having fun spending time with the dogs and taking care of our apartment.

I had considered doing some creative writing during this period, and I even tried a little bit. But frankly, I'm not sure I'm much of a storyteller at heart. I can't even tell a joke very well, much less an entire short story or novel! I may play around with that a bit more, and see what happens, but I'm thinking writing a novel is not really my thing.

Some of you have suggested doing more with my photos, and that's an avenue I do plan to pursue. I at least want to find out a bit more about the process of getting an agent, finding a publisher, that sort of thing. They may not be book material, but maybe they'd work on greeting cards or calendars or something -- who knows?

(Photo: The field behind our apartment, this morning. I was walking the dogs when I took this shot. It was about 20 degrees out.)

L'Ecole

Last night Dave and I went into the city to have dinner at L'Ecole, a restaurant attached to the French Culinary Institute, where Dave went to school. I'd never been there even though it's right in the heart of SoHo, on Broadway and Grand. I've walked past it about a million times. It's kind of scary how oblivious we can be to our surroundings!

Anyway, we had a nice dinner (swordfish for me) and then walked around the FCI building, with its large stainless-steel kitchens and portraits of Jacques Pepin, Bobby Flay and other well known chefs associated with the institute. It was nice to get a first-hand look at a place that was so formative for Dave. We even saw some of his former teachers, who stopped and chatted with us.

Our dinner was in celebratory recognition of the completion of his band's first concert, last Thursday. I attended with our friends Adam and Bill. Overall it was a good show and several people said it was much better than the school had seen in previous seasons, but of course Dave still sees room for improvement, as any good band director would.

(Photo: Subway entrance in Times Square, last week.)

With or Without

Not much to write about today, so I thought I'd just leave you with these two photos I shot in Chinatown on Monday. It's another of my "with or without" experiments, in which I'm trying to get more people into my photos. At first I was intrigued by the shadows on the wall, and that black plastic bag blew in from the left of the frame, which seemed like a nice touch.

Then a lot of people started walking by.


I snapped several shots with passers-by, but I liked this one best because it's the least complicated. I wish I'd been able to get the man's full shadow into the frame, but then he would have been in front of the garbage cans, which would have disrupted their pattern. So maybe this is the best of all possibilities.

Resolutions

I haven't given much thought to New Year's Resolutions this year. I don't usually make a big deal about resolutions -- if I want to change something in my life, I change it, and I don't wait for New Year's! But sometimes it's fun to assess things and see if change is warranted.

This year it's hard to do that assessment because so much is changing anyway. In the past I might have resolved to get a new job, something more professionally challenging, but the universe has made that resolution for me! And everything else seems to be changing, so what could I possibly resolve?

I guess I could resolve to keep going to the gym and stay in shape despite all these changes. I'd also like to find a way to reincorporate my Buddhist practice into my life. I've drifted away from practicing, and I'd like to work on maintaining mindfulness and being open to the universe around me.

At the same time, I don't really miss the Zendo, I must confess. Maybe it's selfish but I'm not missing the obligation of all-day retreats and several hours of sitting at a time. I'm not sure what the future of my involvement with the Zendo will be. Maybe I want a more casual approach to practice. Maybe I can find a sitting group here in New Brunswick. At any rate it would be nice to sit more at home.

I think these are my resolutions every year -- stay fit and practice more!

(Photo: Lower East Side, on Monday.)