Riding on the Train of Xenophobia.

Subways are weird.  Its the one place where you can find every ethnicity, every type of individual and any economic class all piled into one moving missile.  We load in, load out, go underground to get further along above ground.  A perfectly oiled confusing machine that reeks of old age and begs you to join in on the fun, until you get on the wrong train.  The perfect high pitch screech of worn metal summons the return of the train taking you stop by stop to your closest cross street.   Fallen garbage, old souvenirs from lazy travelers line the steal beams carrying the trains in every which direction.  You keep to yourself, you pretend you know where your going and you pray the you're not on an express train that doesn't stop till your off the island. 

We all share one thing on the subway, we avoid each other like the plague.  Heaven forbid you'd make eye contact with the person on the other side of you or even worst have to share the bench with someone.  Connecting with a smile is as easy as flying a kite without wind.  Talking with someone isn't ideal however if you hold up your trusty Manhattan map (I have 2) they all come flocking as if I was a piece of bread and they were a seagull.  Its easy to get lost however its even easier finding your way.  New Yorkers take pride in their home, and understand the feeling of momentary not knowing where the hell you are.   

The first time I took the subway, I remember thinking that it was so weird.  We all know we are physically by each other but we all can't find one thing in common.  We can't even talk, we hardly even look at each other.  Its like we are in a bad marriage where someone has cheated and now there's way to much resentment that grudges have been built and I'm not budging till you start talking, Mr.  Do we really believe that we are all that different.  We share 10 minutes with strangers (scary).  What is this?  I noticed it and all I could think of is how big of an asset we all could be to each other if we started first by breaking down some preconceived notions and started talking (heaven forbid, and the crowd gasps).

See its always a few bad apples that ruin the whole bunch.  I enjoy connecting with people and am not really afraid to do so.  In fact every time I do, I run into someone who is from Minnesota (go figure).  Its trusting your judgment and gut feeling until someone proves that they don't deserve you're trust.  You are completely capable of this and have had this ability every since you were putting crayons in your mouth.  I challenge you to drop some walls and talk to someone different.  Keeping to yourself is no way to be in this beautiful life. 

 

We are all human and that's something we share and it starts with a smile and the ability to be fearless. 

Between an Irish, a Jew, a French Man and a Hard Place..(this is going to be hard to swallow.)

You never know who you will end up talking politics with.  The brilliance of this country was built on immigration and the melting pot idealism, as some like to call a "tossed salad."  I sat between equals I didn't linguistically comprehend, but related to on one common ground with one common understanding;

Things are fu^%ed up here, No?

Now don't get your panties in a bunch when I say certain things that will infect your mind with thought.  Please allow yourself to start the questioning process as I started years back, however at first you will stand alone which is the hardest part of all.  Know that knowledge is power and that a single voice truly is the start.

First I'm not going to get all political on your ass and start spitting out shit you probably wont give 2 camel toes about (yes I said 2 camel toes) because it threatens your calm life existence.  I sat with 4 people including myself and had a conversation without fear, anger, and animosity.  We talked everything politics from food culture in America to Congress.  From different back rounds we saw each other as people creating peace, not as indivduals disturbing it.

When one breaks it down it really becomes black and white.  The Food Industry, The War that we have been in now for 10 years and also Pharmaceuticals among other issues.  Theres a question of right and wrong without gray as they make it seem.  When research is done things seem very easy and it starts with you and more imprtantly it is given to our future children to deal with.  If you dont become passionate about somethoing NOW it will be put into others hands that only need support.

I can't talk about these specific issues as I feel I will be the whistle-blower, the downer, the instigator.  I had a peace conference with individuals that actually all see eye to eye.  How important is that more then ever, because its needed as most news is hidden from you.  Why is that?  At least we know what Jen wore to the Oscars, because that matters.

Oh man..(insert breather) will your heart start to bounce, anxiety will flood and heaven forbid you sweat.  Thank god, then you are still ALIVE.  Allow yourself to start to question, never think you know everything and don't hand it over for someone else to deal with because these are YOUR current issues that in fact affect you.  

"Disturbing the peace is something of a hard thing, No?  In America is different, its hard you just live while others fight for the rights of policies and things, I am just for peace." 
-Anonymous French man (Greko:-)

Do you not feel it? Or have you become so overwhelmed by your current situation that another issue is too much to handle?   Starting is the hardest part, please understand that.  Its not easy starting the conversation and keeping up with it even harder. 

Pick one thing, for me its food.  I love me some food as the day is long.  It feeds us, nourishes us and is us as a culture.  Can you not see that tomatoes only look real and taste real when its warm out and an apple is now as big as a grapefruit so then they now can charge you more by pound.  Your smarter then that to be fooled.  When you mess with the beauty of nature it will bite back and that is truth.  Calm your mind enough to know the true answer instead of grab grab grab.  

In a village in Manhattan we talked, we drank, we debated and the common truth was that something is off.  The French man with his long black lashes sat calm and observed, the Jewish Manhattan native passionately explained the real events of 9-11 and the Irish woman debated back fiercely and then there was me.  It lite a fire in me (yet again) because if I don't start the conversation, will you?  

*It is What You Make of It*

I am the first to admit that this transition has been very interesting and frustrating at times.  Its change and as we become older change isn't the easiest to welcome.  Doesn't mean I would do it differently, doesn't mean I would change anything.  If I was 21 things would have been different and if I was 18 I would have ran here.  Its a little secret I tucked far away in the back of my mind.  I always wanted to come here, but financially and out of fear couldn't do it by myself.

I don't know what is important to you but leaving the nest of comfort and predictability is something that takes thought.  7 days of thought for me when I first said yes and I'm pretty sure I fought half of the process.  Its harder to jump without a clear landing and your imagination flows like molasses the more one ages.  Reality sets in and after relocating nothing seems familiar especially in the tossed salad that is Manhattan.  Until you realize the grove of the city and start to listen to the heart beat that keeps this city alive.  Its a rhythm that changes by area and also by neighborhood.  You start to realize that your not that different and that a smile buys you gold to a certain few.  We get this from our mother, her infectious ability to be warm and welcoming makes a sour puss smile and a pick pocket-er feel guilt.  It is what you make it.  If you want to be alone you will be left alone, if you want to be bothered you can welcome that too.  This goes for Manhattan, this goes for Minnesota, its a formula for any new place.  You got to feel it out and adjust.

I'm not the first to leave the nest and I wont be the last.  Next time I will be better at it and if I can help someone adjust and feel less alone then we really aren't that different.  We all want to fit in, we all want to feel like we can adjust.  Its a process that doesn't happen overnight, but for today I am fine and tomorrow always brings a new day to do things differently and so goes the same for you.

I have a Secret for You...

I like food, who doesn't.  I cook, I experiment and I like my taste buds to dance with new flavors and combinations.  When Im sad I light a flame under a pan and start with the rarest olive oil (Archer Farms Target brand) and allow my knife to guide me through fresh vegetables, tart citrus and zesty herbs.   I cook with heart given to me from my mother whom cooked for five of us.  She is great a brillant woman who understands one thing which we will discuss later.  My mother also whistled soft melodies as she stirred away at a boiling pot adding small dashes of salt and light grinds of pepper.  I get a certain fulfillment and also underlining boredom from food.  I like trying new, I keep my favorites but mostly I can taste a passionate chefs ability to create awesomeness.

Im hungry.  All I have to do is exit my door and theres a billion choices right outside.  Every flavor, every spice and every area of diversity has a small row of blocks dedicated to its authenticity.  Its a food mecca waiting to give you a mouth orgasm, you just have to find it and keep coming back for more.   Unfortunately Im under-impressed and highly confident that I can bring more love and excitement to most meals I have tried yet so far and then I came across the meal that changed everything.

Tikka Masala, the deal breaker.  The heartbreaker, the meal that was so good I would have licked the bowl if I wasn't in public.  My boyfriend and I didn't speak a word as I sopped the tomato gravy goodness, heavily spiced, perfectly seasoned traditional Indian dish down.  It spoke to my soul while slowing my heart rate and making me weak in the knees.  I fell in love and finally felt the passion from the chef.  Allow me to also mention that the perfectly prepared, succulent (yes I said succulent) chicken was so good I unofficially rejoined the clean plate club.  Living on an island of fakers and pretenders, this was a pleasant change and once again relit the flame under my ass that passionate food still does exist.  My mother was in the kitchen and I could taste it.  Possibly she cursed me because now I have this damned ability to taste a secret ingredient, a ingredient so rare even Donald fucking Trump couldn't put a price on because its something you just cant buy.  Its the day old saying that "someone must have put there foot in this dish."  I can taste it even after being a smoker even after tasting the spiciest of foods.

Its love.  You can't buy it nor can one fake it.  Its there or its not.  Anyone can make a sandwich, and until you actually enjoy making that sandwich it will simply fall flat and the next sandwich maker will prevail.  It speaks to you in ways that make you come back and then it slightly makes you shed a tear that someone still cares.  Cares about food not to mass produce it but to love it (however they don't like you they just like the ingredient.).  I will rant for days but I come from place that is now pissed because I taste it in everything now.  Its love, shown to me from a woman that simply loves to fill the bellies of those she would take bullets for.

It's powerful and it makes people keep eating and it also allows people to justify a 400.00 dollar tab.  We all need to eat and once we have tasted love its hard to compare and its hard to go back if its not there unless a lot of butter is involved and then we are just fucked.

So put down those Mcdonalds fries and grab a knife and start getting the ones you love with you in the kitchen.  Magical mistakes happen and for any other reason it will make you turn the tube off and enjoy a meal you prepared..together.

Under 500 Square Feet.

Space [ spayss ]   

1. interval of time: a period or interval of time
2. enough room: room to fit or accommodate something or somebody
3. area set apart: an area set apart or available for use

I have never really devoted much thought to this concept until I crammed my life into a car and then tried to unload it into 500 square feet.  I most certainly brought too many clothes and enough picture frames to start my own museum.  

The truth is that I love my space and my concept of space has never really been tested.  I have always had enough, I have never really wanted more.  Everything had a place in my perfect organized mess.  Perhaps spoiled by space, however we never grew up in a castle and we always shared rooms and didn't kill eachother.  Living in Manhattan everything is small.  Resturants are small, coffee shops are small.  The cafe I sit in now only has 6 tables.  Possibly by allowing less space it allows us to feel more together then appart.  It shrinks how massive this island is or this world in general.  Its intimate and forces you to acknowledge the person you brush up against, come in contact with or share a moment with.  Lets get real, you can't possibly think you don't make even a small impression on those around you however big or small.   

I do have one important question for you.  If you packed your life into a car what would you bring?  What could you spare to loss? What do you keep with you just because?  And honestly when was the last time you wore that shirt? I ask this because it not only allows me to question how much space I lack but it also allows me to question value.  The truth is that there was a lot I could stand parting with however I did use every inch of that car.  You never know how much junk you have until you have to pack it into boxes or into a car.  If you were wondering I took all the clothes I had and all the pictures I could find of the faces I would miss the most, oh yes and all my cooking supplies.    

This 500 square feet is also being shared between 3 people.  Sometimes I close the door to the bathroom and sit on the toilet just to have a moment to myself.  Every night I take bathes like Im 3 years old so I can lock the door.  Im also thinking about putting a chair in the closet.  How the hell do parents do it? Before I had just enough and now Im adjusting to the beauty of Manhattan.  Like all things you adapt and when I look at those 2 faces I share space with I realize I wouldn't have it any other way.  I would much rather share it then be alone.  I just use space better and I appreciate my time alone MUCH more.  

Think about those you share space with, think about the value you put on things that can be bought.  Get your car out and see if your life would fit into it, I dare you.  Maybe this will force you to stop hoarding, clear some space and throw that ugly Hawaiian shirt away.  

*The First 168 Hours*

Its been a week, the first 168 hours of the rest of my life.  Lets rewind 168 hours to me white knuckling the steering wheel of a 2010 Altima.  I was in the Lincoln Tunnel at the end of a 21 hour drive to a place I have only ever imagined.   The tunnel stayed perfectly straight for an annoying amount of time.  I was following a massive bus in the darkest tunnel and was soon spit out into afternoon daylight to fend for my life in the most traffic I have ever seen.

I had made it to Manhattan.  This is when I said a well overdue prayer and followed directions that were wrong.  My hands were shaking and I had saved one cigarette as the grand prize if I made it.  Don't think I did this alone, I had a copilot and a great one at that.  I had my big sister so if I felt like parking the car and running she would surely slap me and tell me to grow some balls.  I couldn't have brought anyone better as I am the youngest and have to maintain a strong disposition at all times because thats what I do.  I couldn't have her drive.  I couldn't crawl into the fetal position I had to face this massively beautiful city on my own.  If I didn't own it, no one would do it for me.   Needless to say I smoked that one cigarette with shaking hands and tears swelling in my eyes.  I never knew how brave I was until I drove a car into Manhattan.

The first day is odd here because your mind is still catching up and is still grasping the concept that this is not a vacation this is your new home.  A home away from home. A place you need to make into a home as our apartment was unfurnished and small.  I loved it even though I was delusional tired, oddly emotional and feeling like our apartment surely needed a punching bag.  I was stressed as this city is on an island minus the sandy beaches and the drinks served in coconuts.  This was in your face, fast, dirty, raw but mostly it was and is real.

This story is not going to end with how I got here or how I was crazy enough to drive to an unknown place.  Its possibly a story about going for it while fighting your instinct to stay safe.  Taking a jump, beginning a leap without a landing.  I came here from the Midwest to conquer some unfortunate truths that underlie deep within.  I was also given a rare opportunity to flip my world upside down, inside out and certainly backwards.  I know I'm not alone in my experience and neither are you. Possibly from reading this you may join that painting class, talk to the cute guy that serves you coffee or dye your hair purple.  

I live in the LES, born and raised in Minnesota and this is my story of luck, courage, bravery, and how sometimes I'm scared as f%^$ but wouldn't change a damn thing.