Please forgive our appearance…

Yes, I know. I’m having a hell of a time keeping my blog updated and I really miss blogging. Starting to work at Google felt as uneventful as being hit by a train. Changing city, adjusting to my commute, and in three months traveling to the West Coast twice, and to Italy once. Frequent travelers will say “so, what?” but for me it was enough displacement to make me sick for two months (that and the warm winter, which everybody seems to have suffered from).

Google is a place full of really smart people moving really fast and for the first two months it felt like I was running like crazy just to keep the pace with everybody else; and breathing hard while running. Now that I’m getting used to the environment, the anxiety has settled, and I’ve learned enough to function, I’m enjoying it a lot. [And I confirm again: the food is fantastic, even for NYC standards.]

All this has changed me somehow. I feel freer and and I’m a lot more confused (The title of Barbara Sher’s book, I could do anything if I only knew what it was, comes to mind), which makes writing really difficult. I have all this raw stuff spinning in my head and in my soul; the dust has not yet settled and it’s hard to see clearly. (And yet, sometimes I have flashes of pure clarity, where things seems sharper and in focus than they have never been before).

So, I’m going to post a sign on my blog that says: “Please forgive our appearance as we regain clarity and perspective.”

February 5, 2007 | Filed Under Blogging | 3 Comments 

Of the kindness of strangers (in NYC)

Who ever said that New Yorkers are rude?

I’ve been in NYC a little bit more than a month and I’ve been rescued, helped, advised, and even received medical attention by total strangers, without me ever having to ask for help.

It started with the young woman who saw me trying to buy a MetroCard from a machine with my credit card. She stopped to tell me that that machine never worked with credit cards; I should use cash or go to the other Subway stop across the street.

Then it was the turn of the elegant black businessman who rescue me in the Time Square tower where I was trying to figure out how to get to one of the high floors. He showed me the right spot and how to operate the elevators (which worked like no one I’d seen before).

It was Maria from Ecuador who didn’t even speak English and saw me coughing. Instead of stepping away from me and looking at me with despise, she talked to me with kindness and gave me a Cepacol lozenge for my throat and a menthol lotion to spread on my neck for relief.

It was the woman who saw me standing with my luggage in front of the emergency exit door of the ACE subway stop at Port Authority—would the alarm sound if I opened the door, as the sign read?—who moved towards me and without even slowing down (I’ve been told that New Yorkers walk 30% faster than non-New Yorkers) opened the door for me. “I was afraid the alarm would sound.” “So what? Go!”

Then the elderly black woman with the cane waiting for the green traffic light , who scolded me for being too close to the corner where cars could hit me. And the two guys who—independently—prevented me from forgetting my gloves in the subway car (one stopped me and pointed at my gloves, the other collected them and handed them over to me).

When people don’t use cars, they actually share the same space-time; they perceive the connectedness among human beings who find themselves in the same space (even more strongly in smaller spaces like subway cars).

New Yorkers practice an efficiency-driven solidarity I haven’t experienced in any other place. They act as a collective “Getting started” manual for a city that it’s not always easy to use for newbies. Perhaps it’s because so many people are new to NYC. Perhaps it’s because of the many traumatic experiences who have taught New Yorkers how important is to rely on each other. Whatever it is, it makes you feel like you belong and people care.

Then, one evening going home from work, I heard the man sitting to my right saying something about “his biggest fear.” I looked at him. He looked at me asked: “Do you think a man should confront his biggest fears?” It was a rhetorical question; he only needed to find the courage to do what he knew he had to do. I asked him what his biggest fear was. In the space of a subway stop, the man told me about his biggest fear and how he was avoiding it, and how he decided to deal with it. “Good luck!” I said standing up to get off at my stop. I really meant it.

February 4, 2007 | Filed Under Culture & Society | 4 Comments