In my solitude

As I often do when I'm not traipsing around the world's airport, I worked from home today. I know what you're thinking. Work and home seem to be diametrically opposed to one another, but that, my friends is the discipline. It takes a special type of person to roll out of bed, log on and make a whole-hearted attempt at slaying a to-do list. It's not for everyone. Some people need the social aspect of being at work. They need to go and print stuff out, and be seen at the fax machine. They have a need to check in with people face-to-face or catch up on the lives of one another outside the workplace. Some like getting together and going out for long lunches and then trying to settle back in to get some work done as the carbohydrate overload serves as a counterproductive force, introducing fatigue into the equation as the day grows long. So numerous are the distractions at work that I find it much easier to get things done at home. At home I never get caught in the doorway of someone's office, trying to inch my way out, searching for segues to end the exchange, hoping my phone will ring so I can escape back to my desk.

I was quite productive today, getting on the phone shortly after I finished my oatmeal. Unfortunately, that phone call spanned more than 4 hours and countless keystrokes, successful and otherwise with me dialed in to my client's network. Fighting a cold the last few days, I cranked the heat up to knock the chill off my living room and closed the blinds to keep the glare from the sun off my computer screen. When it was all done, I had no idea that I had missed an absolutely glorious day. Sure, it was in the 50s today, but that would've been nothing compared to the frigid Midwestern temperatures I had endured earlier in the week.

When I did finally gaze down from my window at the street below, I found myself wondering. The usual suspects were carrying on down below, their voices somehow clearer to me on the 6th floor than they would be at street level. I had hoped to get to the gym before starting my work this morning, but the time difference between my client and I killed that idea. I was starving when I finally finished that epic phone call so I had to eat. This set back any notions of working out even further and daylight was getting scarce. For some reason I have become less comfortable of late going to and from the gym after dark. Sure, I have to have to keep my eyes open and hands free even earlier now that the days are short, and the shadows more numerous and primed for lurking. I don't know what it was today, but I really found myself more uneasy than usual. Hearing news of a homicide that occurred while I was out of town, on a corner that I can see from my window surely contributed to this feeling. Being in Mayberry for most of this week didn't help either. I felt like I was losing my edge. I hadn't been outside all day and wondered how long I could stay holed up in here. Would the world really go on without me, outside my window? If I had enough food and drink to last me, would I ever leave again?

I started to think about Sean Connery's character in Finding Forrester, afraid to leave his home in a Bronx neighborhood for decades, the world passing him by as he buried himself in a superfluity of books that would shame most public libraries. Paralyzed by his fear of the public, he could no earthly reason to come out each day. The human need for safety eclipsed his desire for discovery and the newness of each day. He yearned for the predictible, the known quantities of his apartment. Would I succumb to this? Would my need for safety and security make me a prisoner of my own home? Would it dominate my daily behavior?

And then I snapped out of it. I grabbed my gym bag and headed out the door. When the cool, early evening air hit me, I realized how alive I was, being awakened from my sleepwalking of the last few days. Hyper-aware I quickened my gait and kept my head on a swivel.

I could feel the city breathing, chest heaving against the flesh of the evening

(Black Star). Reminded of how heightened my senses were, I became one with the city. I missed the city. I needed the city. I love getting away, but I can't imagine not getting a fix of this any less than on a weekly basis.

I got the same rush walking back from the gym. The fear was gone this time. I made it back to my fortress unscathed, looking over my shoulder at every turn. I refuse to be a prisoner, a victim, a spectator. Mine is a participatory experience. Life is to be lived.