For Sale

I'm listing my apartment for sale next week. I met with a Realtor yesterday and signed the exclusive listing agreement. Dave and I plan to go in this weekend and remove most of my personal effects, but I'll leave the furniture and artwork for now -- I think it helps define the space and makes it look better.

I've wrestled with this decision, but ultimately it comes down to economics and need. I pay about $1500 a month to maintain that apartment, and though I could rent it and recover that money, I don't want the hassle of dealing with a tenant -- especially because I can sublet for only three years according to the rules of my co-op.

I can't really envision a scenario in which I would live there again, unless Dave and I broke up -- and I can't invest $1500 a month in a possibility that, at this point, appears groundless. That's just not rational. Even if the worst happened and I set out on my own again, wouldn't it be more desirable to start from scratch in a new place? I know a lot more about New York and its environs than I did when I bought that apartment eight years ago, and I think I'd be open to more options now.

This reminds me of the time ten years ago when I sold my condo in Sarasota, Fla. I'd bought it only a year earlier, installed new carpet and painted and decorated it carefully according to my tastes. Then, lo and behold, I got a job offer in New York City. It was a painful decision to let go of that condo, which I loved, as well as much of my furniture. But it was undoubtedly the right thing to do.

I'm sorry to let go of my New York apartment, too. But the most important thing in life is to move forward. Onward!

(Photo: SoHo, yesterday.)

Mysterious Message

While in the city on co-op business, I found this knitted panel lashed to a tree on E. 31st Street. Any ideas what it could mean? Google turns up nothing, so I suspect the knitter was in a metaphysical mood.

Quiet Changes

I've been sitting on the couch this morning reading "The English Major" by Jim Harrison, an author my old college roommate told me about years ago but I'd never read. I'm enjoying the book and its main character, a sensible Michigan farmer who's going through something of a late-midlife crisis.

Interestingly, five months after the first news of my layoff, my own life feels less and less like a crisis. I've settled into taking care of the apartment and the dogs, and though I'm still poking around for jobs I must admit I'm enjoying this time. My Mom asked me on the phone yesterday, "What do you do all day?" She seemed surprised that I find enough to keep myself occupied. But I feel very busy! There are always little projects demanding my attention.

I'm still faced with a tangle of options and steps for moving ahead -- and indeed the options keep multiplying for various reasons -- but I have some ideas about where I want to go and what I want to do. I don't feel at all lost, and I have the luxury of savings to live on and the growing certainty of my relationship with Dave.

I do think I'm finished with living in New York City. When I read the Times now (multiple shootings in Times Square!) I'm relieved I'm not there. As much as I have loved the city, there's not much I miss about it on a day-to-day basis. For example, although I've been to dozens of Broadway shows in the past decade, I've lost all urge to keep up with them -- they're too expensive, and honestly I'd rather be home on the couch with a good book. Maybe I've had my fill, not just of the shows, but of Manhattan life.

I also don't miss the Zendo. I wish I missed it, because I feel like a lout confessing that -- but the truth is, I've been uncomfortable for a while with the organization and the intensity of practice it cultivates. I've seen in myself a disingenuous tendency to do and say what I believe I "should" be doing or saying as a Zen practitioner. I also suspect that we can get so lost in the sitting, ceremony and retreats that we miss our lives on the ground -- exactly what practice is supposed to prevent. Can Zen give rise to its own delusions, and create its own unhealthy escapes?

(I don't intend to stop practicing entirely, and I still value the teachings and the overall philosophy of Zen. But I feel more balanced now, here on this sofa with the snoring dogs nearby, than I do in the middle of a chanting service or a three-hour sitting period.)

So, anyway, I'm in a good space. I love the exciting uncertainty of my life at the moment. And I'm loving this Jim Harrison book!

(Photo: Magnolias on a foggy morning, East Brunswick, yesterday.)

Blooming Trees

It's time for spring blossoms again! The pear, cherry and magnolia trees in the field behind our apartment are big clouds of pink and white, and the forsythia's brilliant yellow glows against the blue sky and green grass. The whole neighborhood seems to be blooming.





It's downright warm here today; I have the balcony door open and the dogs are snoozing outside. I love spring!

Provincetown

Whew! Back from Provincetown, where I had never been before last week. I definitely hope to return. It's a terrific place, low-key (at least at this time of year), quaint and artistic.

It's just what you'd expect -- lots of shingled, Cape Cod-style houses, a business district that looks straight out of 1955 (if you don't look too closely at the store windows!), docks, boats and seafood. Of course it's also a gay mecca, but the season hasn't really started up yet, so right now there are just a few scattered people on the streets and none of the flash and disco thump that comes later in the summer.

We had a great time despite occasionally inclement weather and the off-season atmosphere. I was worried when we first got there on Monday -- we were just in time for a rainstorm that flooded out parts of Rhode Island and filled basements throughout the region. We went walking Monday night and found virtually nothing open on Commercial Street, the main drag. I thought, "Wow. This might be a long five days!"

We were pretty much trapped in our guesthouse room on Tuesday. We read and watched movies -- fortunately our guesthouse had an excellent selection of loaner DVDs!


Finally on Wednesday and Thursday we were able to venture out, and though it was still gray the town became more lively. April 1 seems to be the magic date for many of the businesses to emerge from hibernation, and work crews were spiffing up the buildings and moving in new stock. We found several restaurants open (of varying degrees of quality) and we were able to go up in the wind-whipped Pilgrim Monument that towers over town.

Unfortunately, The Lobster Pot, which I photographed and posted a few days ago, was not among the open restaurants. In fact, I went the whole week without eating lobster. It's surprisingly scarce on menus -- we found it in one place for $42, which is too rich for my unemployed blood.


By Friday, the weather had improved substantially and we had lots of sun. Dave and I walked out on the breakwater that connects Provincetown to Long Point, across the harbor. We tried to take Ernie and Ruby but the rocks proved a little too treacherous, and they spent the morning in the car, lounging in the breeze with the windows down. I actually got a light sunburn.

It did us a world of good to get away. Dave and I had a chance to talk and spend lots of quiet time with each other, and compare notes about what we want to do with our lives. Fortunately, we're both on the same page. We share very similar ideas about what we need and how we define success, and similar fears and frustrations in our creative lives.

We're so enamored with Provincetown we'd love to move there some day, though admittedly I still need to see it in season to get a complete sense of what I'm in for!

(Photos: Provincetown's East End, taken from the Pilgrim Monument; Long Point Lighthouse, taken from the deck of our guest house in town; Wood End Lighthouse, taken from the breakwater.)

Provincetown, day 5

Provincetown, day 4