go to your happy place

man, this blog is neglected… i feel like some sort of blog social services department is going to come shut me down.

it’s gotten a lot hotter in new york since my last post, and a lot more complicated. i’m trying to get up the balls to quit my job and dive head first into unemployment. i didn’t fare that well the first time, but i’m hoping it was because that joblessness was imposed on me and not self-imposed. and because it was the ides of march.

so i’ve been trying to conjure up some ’safe places’ for my mind to go when things get dark. You know, like they tell you to do at the doctor’s office when you’re about to get a shot. Actually, for total transparency, I had to do this recently in the ER for an unexplained brain spasm. the man nurse told me to ‘go to a happy place’ while i got my head scanned by a giant machine…and the whole thing struck me as having a greater purpose.

the odd thing is that my brain surprised me with where it went when ‘happy place’ was called up – not the sunny tropical beach or exotic locale that i was anticipating. instead two memories that probably never would have resurfaced:

first one is back to when i was studying in france. I spent a day exploring new areas of the city and ended up at the Musee D’orsay, impressionist floor. As a slowly wandered the room, reading the blurbs on the wall explaining the Manets and Degas, I saw a very stylish French grandmother with her adorably French grandson. As they circled the room, she explained every piece to him. I only picked up bits and pieces of what she was saying, but it seemed so wonderful. Like the epitome of culture. Why France is superior to America. All playing out right before my eyes.

the second ‘happy place’ memory is about as unrelated to the first as could be. I’m back in Wisconsin where I grew up, and it’s summer and I’m about 7. the age when being out of school for the summer feels like an eternity, and every day is a perfect blend of adventure and boredom. on most of summer days if the weather was right, my mom would take me, my siblings and our neighborhood posse down to the pool.  And i can remember seeing big trucks overflowing with green beans heading out of town, going to “factory”. And those big trucks of green beans symbolized the heart of summer. The way tossled corn signaled the end. And i miss those signs. really connected to earth and nature. i love new york, but here my signs are artificial and man-made. so my happy place goes to simpler times when i could look out the window and see a bean truck and know that all was right with the world.

I’m going to keep exploring these memories. Hopefully more random, ‘happy place’ thoughts come to the surface to get me through the road ahead. And I want to hear other people’s unexpected ‘happy place thoughts’.  because i’m curious to know if other people’s brains take them to deep, forgotten places. And because i never have anyone comment on my wall. share….

The smell of freshly baked donuts

I was on my way home from work the other night, heading east down 14th street from Union Square, and I found myself smiling because it was still light out at 8:00 p.m., and because the trees were in bloom when just weeks before they were skeletons.

And then as I approached Dunkin Donuts, the most delicious smell came wafting through the air. Freshly baked donuts. Damn, that really made me smile. I’ve had the pleasure to catch this smell on a few other occasions and I’ve always considered it my own special treat — like the city saying “Keep going, it’s going to be okay.” So I strolled past the store, grinning like an idiot, and taking in my private moment of donut zen.

Then I hit the corner and was stopped by a red light. I noticed the guy in front of me was shoving the last bit of a Dunkin Donut jelly roll into his mouth. I thought to myself “the smell got him too” but then a dark thought crept into my head. What if their special smell wasn’t just for me but was one giant marketing scheme to drive traffic during the slow evening hours… My grin faded.

Then the guy, who happened to be standing next to his mother, dropped his Dunkin Donut wrapper on the ground. Blatantly littering even though the garbage can was not 2 feet away. I was so disgusted, I could feel the disgust radiate out of me towards him. His mother must have intercepted some of my disgust because she leaned down and picked it up. This made me want to punch the stupid grown man in the face because his mother shouldn’t still have to clean up after him. Plus he ruined my moment of donut zen.

A couple of nights later I was walking home from the Union Square stop around 8:00 and that delicious donut smell got me again. I couldn’t resist looking in the window to see if there was actually some baking going on, and I was relieved to see baking racks. My faith in the donut zen smell was restored.