Connection

On the subway, just the usual fare. A quiet car full of people: reading, listening to music, staring into space trying not to look anyone directly in the eye – and though it’s routine for us to act this way on the subway, I thought of how strange it must seem to an outsider, to someone who doesn’t know that this is typical “subway behavior”.

That’s just what you do. You get on (hopefully with something to read or listen to or do, because you really don’t want to be that person who is reading the Times over your neighbor’s shoulder or gets caught staring at someone when you didn’t even know you were looking at them) – and, in essence, you ignore everyone else.

And it is a bit strange. It’s probably the only time that you’ll be in a space that confined with that many people who are not engaging with each other in any sort of way. Oh sure, there might be the occasional young man who gets up and gives his seat to the pregnant woman, or the lady who picks up the newspaper that has fallen off someone’s lap and gives it back to them… but on the whole, when the train stops moving and you no longer hear the engine, an uncomfortable silence takes over.

But I witnessed a rare occurrence when I was on my way to work the other day. There was a man, perhaps in his forty’s, who got on at one end of the subway car and started walking to the other end. No one took much notice of him, as we were all in our usual pay-no-mind-to-anyone-else state. When he got to a free seat on the other end, he no sooner sat down than jumped right back up and exclaimed “I didn’t even know what country you were in!” And all of a sudden, he and the woman sitting across from him (turns out, she was an old, traveling friend whom he hadn’t seen in years) were in a full embrace on the train and laughing and talking a mile a minute – and neither one was self-conscious about being the loudest people on that train or adhering to the unwritten rules of “polite subway greeting etiquette” – they were just so surprised at each other’s presence and so honestly caught up in the moment that their joy had no other recourse than to spread to many of the surrounding passengers.

I watched other people watching this couple of old friends… how their faces lit up with that same feeling of recognition, smiling to themselves, openly staring at them with a brazen desire to know their whole story. And it seemed apparent that we were all longing for that same kind of connection. Honest, open, unashamed. Even if just for a short moment during your morning subway ride.

Is it that New Yorkers just naturally start to avoid connection with others? In my home town, when you’re walking down the street and someone is walking the other way, there’s a nod or a quick hello when you pass. Is it just that there are so many people in New York that you’d exhaust yourself saying hello to every one of them, so instead we just don’t say anything at all? Or is it just that we’re shy and unsure of ourselves…

It seems to be a pleasant surprise when you see a friendly face in the drugstore and the clerk honestly wishes you a good day. Or when you take notice of a teenage boy helping an elderly person cross the street. Even when you’re on the subway and a few women strike up a conversation over the adorable baby one of them is carrying.

Is it more beautiful because it’s rare? Or is it just something that’s so recognizable and familiar and we’re all longing for it…

Perhaps New York is not the city of fast, angry people that it is perceived to be on the outside. Perhaps it is a city full of people who are just a bit overwhelmed and miss the simple act of human connection.

Take It With You

A busy week in a small apartment can leave quite a big mess. When you leave the house at 8am and get home after 10pm, it’s hard to have any desire to wash the dishes or do the laundry… and when you have a whole week of that schedule, inevitably both pile up. It can feel a bit overwhelming when you decide to dive in and do the “big clean” – when you stop searching for the many ways to procrastinate and just get started.

But I find that when I’m done (which is always sooner than I expect) and I sit in my favorite chair, drinking in the warmth of the candles and a glass of Shiraz… there is such a sense of peace that comes over me. The pride of accomplishment mixed with the calm of a clean house.

I like to take that moment and indulge in it. No music, no television, no books or magazines. Just a time of quiet reflection when the only sounds are a few ticking clocks, the wind chime outside in the breeze, and the light snore of our napping cat.

It’s as if in that brief moment, the chaos of life pauses – giving me a respite in which to take a breath and sit back and enjoy this picture of everything in its place, before the chaos sweeps back in, (which is also always sooner than I expect).

Another place that I am able to feel this brief respite, this sense of time suspended, is in a place of worship. To walk off the busy streets of New York City into a reverent and quiet and calm environment – it immediately shocks your system. You cannot do anything but catch your breath and still your mind. The light is filtered differently; the smell is one of incense or old, polished wood; the echo of each step is heard; and you cannot help but adjust. Your eyes take a moment to open up; your nose is awakened by unfamiliar scents; your gait is measured, slower.

Sometimes I am there for ten minutes, sometimes two hours, and regardless of how long I’ve spent inside this place of reverence, it is again a shock to my system when I step back out into the busy world. The sunlight is harsh; the comforting aromas gone; and I am swept up into the heave of New York City Walking (or else risk being scoffed at for daring to enjoy a leisurely pace).

The trick – and I’m only beginning to understand the concept of this noble idea – is to find some way to take it with you: the sense of calm into the busy world, the wave of peace into the crisis-driven office, the gentle reminder of that moment in the clean house.

And it is not an easy trick. In fact, it shouldn’t even be called a trick at all – a trick implies some sort of “slight-of-hand” or magic in place of real work. The reality is: it’s a challenge. It is a hard thing to carry that inner peace with you throughout the day. Let’s not fool ourselves - it’s hard to carry it past noon!

But if today you can make it until noon and tomorrow you make it to 12:15 – there is the proof that it is not unattainable. It is in the small, conscious choices we make at each moment of every day. When we choose to be positive or to be negative; when we choose to smile at the person sitting next to us on the subway or to immediately bury into our newspaper; even when we choose to wash each dish as soon as we’re finished eating so they don’t even have a chance to pile up.

However you get to that place of serenity: yoga, worship, meditation, running… it is worth it to go there. It is worth the ten minutes or two hours or however long – to indulge in that moment.

And it is worth it to meet that daily challenge – to take it with you.

Love Without Condition

I went to church this evening for Maundy Thursday and learned that "Maundy" translates from Latin meaning “Commandment” – this day of celebration during the Easter Holy Week is representative of the Last Supper and the greatest commandment of all: “Love One Another as I Have Loved You”.

What a HUGE task! To have a love that pure, that unselfish, that all-encompassing is impossible for most of us. But the aspiration is what really matters – aspiring to that love, keeping a mantra in your head, a daily reminder to try and live that commandment. It is such a simple statement: just eight words,

but the weighty responsibility of them makes it a tough commandment to follow.

“Thou shalt not kill” – easy. Just don’t murder anyone. “Thou shalt honor thy father and mother” – not always easy, but it doesn’t say “Thou shalt agree with thy father and mother”, it just says honor them – which you can do while respectfully disagreeing with them. But “Love One Another as I Have Loved You”: LOVE. That’s the word that trips us up. Not “like" one another, or “respect" one another or even “tolerate" one another – but love. LOVE ONE ANOTHER.

There is love that comes from your soul for a partner or a friend, there is love that comes from your heart for a family member or a life-time pet… but this love, this LOVE must come from something, someone, some place bigger than yourself. It’s too big for your heart and too overwhelming for your soul. It’s Love without condition. Love no matter what. Love when you don’t want to love, when what you feel is the farthest emotion possible from love. Love beyond all measure. Love that we cannot even comprehend.

And the funny thing about this Love is that when you think it, and trust it, and send it out into the world… it turns out that it’s really there. It just might be easier than we all think. It’s an intention of Love. It doesn’t mean that you have to go around hugging all your co-workers and baking cookies for your neighbors (although that probably couldn’t hurt ,for you’d like them to follow the same commandment, too!) but it means sending them Love. Putting Love out there, even if you don’t feel it. Even if you don’t want to. Even when you’re not getting that same Love in return.

That’s conditional love – loving for the sake of gaining love in return. But loving for the sake of loving – that’s love without condition – that’s Love Divine.

The other part of Maundy Thursday is the celebration of the Last Supper. The final meal that Jesus ate with his friends. Just think of your group of close friends – having them over to your house, the cleaning up you’ll do before hand, the appetizers you’ll make, the dinner that could be simple but because of the company will turn out to be one of the most satisfying meals you can remember. And then think of it being the last time. Would it make each moment sweeter? Or bittersweet? Would you want to prolong the night and make it last into the early morning? Or would you want time to savor the moment and reflect afterwards?

The simple breaking of bread. The sharing of wine. The blessing given to each before he partakes. Amazing the feeling of fulfillment that such a small, simple meal can give.

Funny how I watched that final moment of AMERICAN FIESTA in rehearsal and it seemed to be saying the same things to me as the Maundy Thursday church service. The bowls may not match, the family may come in all different shapes and sizes, but the gathering together is what makes the event of sharing a meal holy and sacred and full of love. Simple: Love and Food. Food and Love.

Setting the Table

Yesterday I watched a run thru of AMERICAN FIESTA – a beautiful, simple play. One man’s story of how he struggled with an obsession of Fiestaware (colorful, depression-era dishes that are now a collector’s item) and also an obsession to fit in to a mold of what he thought his life should be. A career that made him lots of money, but didn’t fulfill him. A marriage to his partner that didn’t quite gel with the image his family had in mind. A need for approval and acceptance from his parents – even though he was forty and no longer legally needed their approval. A struggle within himself to be who he was and to reconcile that with the lifestyle in which he was raised.

The Fiestaware serves as a vehicle for his story. A chipped dish to represent his granny and her hardships. A small bowl that held a memory of his childhood. A big red bowl as his conservative and overbearing father. A big blue bowl as his mother who could never fully accept who he was, but still loved him forever. Every dish has a story, every family member has a history.

And in the final scene he is setting the table, with these dishes, these – his family… and while doing so, he comes to the realization that this is what heaven looks like. It’s not the pristine perfection of having a complete set of mint-condition dishes all in corresponding size and color. It’s the disarray of all the many colors and shapes and cracks and imperfections that create a family of love and life and togetherness.

While watching, I also came to a realization: that I have some of the same hang-ups in my own life. I am not a person struggling for acceptance from my parents – I am very lucky in that regard. But I am still experiencing a struggle within myself: a tug-of-war between what I’ve always pictured in my head as the ideal life, (the ideal table setting) and what is the reality of my life – the wonderful and blessed reality.

I suppose I am old-fashioned. More than a few people have told me on many occasions that I’m an “old soul”. But I’ve always had this vision of what my life would be like when I was older. I’d be married in a big wedding. I’d have children. I’d live near my family. I’d have a house and a yard and I’d make Sunday dinners. I’d celebrate birthdays and holidays and graduations surrounded by my parents and siblings and cousins.

But, as my world has turned out – right now, I’m not married. I don’t have children. I only see my family a handful of times each year. And though this is not what I intended when I was 14 and my best friend and I would plan our lives together, it is still good. It is still joyous. It is still a blessed life. And of course, there is still much time. As my beau, Andy, says: “Life is long.”

Perhaps my Easter Sunday won’t be spent with my parents and brother and sister this year… but instead I will enjoy the holiday with Andy and our good friends who just got engaged, and the four of us will be a kind of family of our own. And when we set the table and sit town to eat and give thanks for the bounty before us, it will truly feel like family. Not flesh and blood, but of a different kind – an extension of our four separate families, each of us bringing to the table something of our own traditions and histories and childhood memories. And that will make us family to each other.

I realized watching that final scene, that holding on to my childhood ideal of what a perfect life should be may be holding me back from fully enjoying the adult life I have now… which is quite different than I pictured, and quite wonderful also.

To leave room for new traditions while not forgetting the old. To embrace the ideals of your partner while not giving up on your own and to somehow conjoin the two – that is marriage.