subway kids rejoice

In January, I turned 25. For my birthday, a friend of mine gave me The Alchemist. On the title page, he wrote a note: "MCB, I found this one of the most inspiring books I've ever read. I hope it resonates as much with you." It took me a few weeks to finish the book. As I was reading, I knew something important was happening. The book served to reflect aspects of my spirituality that I had learned over the past six months or so. I put the book on a shelf, feeling cemented in my beliefs, but also feeling like I had missed something, that some of the metaphors were lost on me.

I pulled the book from the shelf yesterday, to share it with a man I've been seeing. I put it in my room to remind myself to give it to him, but decided not to take it with me yesterday. It sat on my dresser all day. This morning before leaving for work, I decided instead to re-read it myself, and I put it in my bag. I pulled it out on the train at 86th street and started reading. I stood from 86th street to 14th street reading, then some people got up to exit so I took a seat. I was sitting there reading, and the man sitting next to me looked over and said, "Your first time reading that book?" I said, "No, my second." He said, "Ah. It helps just to re-read it every now and then."

I agreed with him and pretended to keep reading, but there was an incessant pounding on the inside of my chest, demanding that I keep talking with this person. He was older a bit, probably in his 30s, and he seemed really nice and I liked his vibe. I ignored the pounding for as long as possible until I couldn't ignore it anymore.

"How many times would you say you've read it?" I asked him.
"Ummm, about three."
"Yeah."
"Why are you re-reading it now?"
"Um, well.  I just read it for the first time a few months ago."
"Oh really? That's pretty soon to be re-reading it already."
"Well, I feel like I missed some of the metaphors so I want to go back through and get a better understanding."
"I see. Are you in the middle of a big life change?"
In my heart: yes.
Out loud: "Um, well, I really want a new job."
"Ah. What line of work are you in?"
"Well, right now I work in magazines."
"And what do you want to be doing? Healing?" He laughed.
"Well, I write magazine articles, but I really want to be doing something more creative. Like writing books or screenplays." Mind you, this is a complete stranger and I've never even told some of my closest friends that I want to write screenplays.
"Have you thought about  taking a loan out to pursue higher education?"
In my head: Um, wow. Damn. Straight to the point.
Out loud: "I've thought about grad school but haven't done any in-depth research on it."
"Well," he said, "I'm throwing caution to the wind and taking out a $100,000 loan to go to school for psychotherapy. I feel like it's my calling."
"Holy shit. That's a lot of money."
"There's this school out in Boulder, Colorado called Naropa. Have you ever heard of it?"
"No."
"It's a Buddhist-founded university with graduate programs in writing. They focus on contemplative learning, meditation and stuff like that. It's really cool, you should look into it."
"All right, sounds awesome." Or something equally inane.
"Have you ever heard of Allen Ginsberg?"
In my heart: fucking Christ.
Out loud: "Yes."
"The library there is named after him. He was involved with the writing school somehow."

My stop came. I thanked him and told him to have a great day.
I got off.
I walked upstairs.
The sun hit my face. It was warm.
I went to get an iced coffee but I didn't really need it.
I held back tears as I walked to my office.

Synchronicity.

Dentist, thy name is confusion

When you're looking for an unfamiliar locale in an unfamiliar area, New York can be a very confusing place. Just because you have an address doesn't mean you will find your destination with anything resembling ease, especially if that destination happens to be an office of some sort. Often, a large number of offices share a single address - you know, because buildings in New York are tall. All of this helps to explain what happened to me recently when I went to my first dentist's appointment in the city.

I had an address, cross street and the dentist's name - we'll call him Dr. Teef - so I felt prepared. I got to the neighborhood, found the address and was discouraged that I couldn't find his name on any of the building directories - lots of doctors, dermatologists and even other dentists, but no sign of Dr. Teef. I walked around to the side of the building, where another sign indicated a second entrance for the same address. Still, no Dr. Teef listed; however, I found a sign for a general dentist's office. This must be it, right? I rang the doorbell (because you can never just walk in anywhere in New York, except for maybe Duane Reade), and after a minute or so they buzzed the door open for me.

The office was really small. I mean even for New York, this office was really small: two dental rooms, a teeny bathroom, an X-ray room or something, and a waiting area with like three seats. There was no one sitting behind the reception desk, so I stood and waited, mildly annoyed. Eventually a dental hygienist emerged from one of the two rooms, removed her face mask and asked if she could help me. I told her I had an appointment at 2, and she looked utterly confused and apologized that the receptionist was out sick and that she was pulling double duty cleaning teeth and handling the phones. I said it was OK as she scrolled through the day's schedule and asked me my name. I told her, and she just continued to look more and more confused. I told her that I had received a phone call the day before confirming my appointment. More confused looks.

She apologized for not being familiar with the computer system, and after calling the receptionist at home, who contacted my insurance company to make sure I was covered, filling out some paperwork and having me wait a little while, she finally cleaned my teeth and all that. The dentist saw me, and delivered the verdict: two teeny cavities. Sad face! The universe blessed me with amazing teeth - I've had like two cavities my whole life and never had braces - so hearing I have cavities is always a disappointment. Not a shock, though, considering how much HLLWN candy I've been eating recently. But that's another post for another day.

As I was exiting, I made an appointment to get my cavities filled, and, just on a curious whim, I asked the hygienist/temp receptionist: "Is this Dr. Teef's office? This is Dr. Teef's office right?" She looked (again) utterly confused, and told me that no, it wasn't; there was only Dr. Cav, who I just saw. I lolzed to myself and realized I had just seen the completely wrong dentist at the completely right address. I felt bad, as I'm sure Dr. Teef was feeling dejected, crying into his spit sink and wishing he was examining my beautiful teeth.

Sometimes things happen in this city that are just so New York. Random nights out with friends that end in drunken cab rides home. Finding out that dude you met at the bar actually works in your building. Your new best friend knows that girl you randomly went to college with for like a year. You went to the wrong dentist, and because the receptionist happened to be sick and the hygienist happened to be covering for her, she assumed she was the one making the mistake when she didn't see your name on the day's schedule.

When it comes to seemingly random things just happening, I have to confess that living in New York has made me more of a believer in destiny/fate than ever before. In a city where every little action - sleeping in, getting up early, going out to dinner, going grocery shopping, meeting friends at a bar - can determine a lifetime of connections and experiences, it becomes increasingly clear to me that things don't just happen. Everything happens for a reason. Even dental cleanings.