23 Years Later

Taking stock on 9/11.

The shakiness, the slight waviness of the twin beams of light toward the middle is due to my unsteady hand trying to make the vertical panoramic shot so I could capture both the earthly skyline and the point where the Tribute in Light disappears into the sky. 

Shortly after 9/11/01, I started my career job - my first job that wasn't a stepping stone to something else. Having worked inside BigLaw before as a legal assistant saving up for law school, I knew what I was in for in terms of hours. That horrible event, with all those lives suddenly snuffed out, inspired then a lot of societal reflection, a search for meaning and lessons from the devastation; I had clipped from the newspaper one of the pieces written at the time that resonated with me - an essay about keeping sight of what was truly important (the people we love and experiencing life with them) - and pinned it to my office bulletin board as a reminder. But the job, the industry, got the better of me for almost half of my life till relatively recently - because I had other insecurities that the breakneck pace and responding to the neverending demands assuaged, in part. And then I woke up two decades later and realized I had given too much to them.

On 9/11 anniversaries past, I used to struggle just to get out in time even to see the Tribute, even when the office was mere blocks away. I recall a few years the lights were dimmed while I was still inside toiling away. I had the clipped essay at the back of my mind, but didn't feel I could do anything about it - the hamster wheel was spinning so fast that I thought if I stopped, its remaining momentum would fling me out with lethal force against the glass sides of the cage. And so I kept running, until I felt on the verge of breaking, and knew I had to risk getting off the wheel.

By contrast, this year, I left the office a bit after 5. I met up with a particularly friendly friend to catch up, after a week away with the family. We went to see the Elephant Migration in the Meatpacking District. And then headed into Brooklyn to calmly wait for the sunset, and then for the Tribute to become visible. We talked about family and friends and planned future excursions.

It took almost half my lifetime thus far (and then the trauma of a different mass death event - the global pandemic), but I am finally letting that clipped essay actually guide me away from fear and toward living.

Every Day Is Earth Day

Trying to live life each day as Earth Day.

Because 'tis true that every day is an earth day, and I try to live my life accordingly. But on this particular Earth Day, there were some extra nice encounters.

At the Harlem Meer, a blue heron! ...

...Turtles! 

...A butterfly!

En route to Central Park, a playground that honored some of the world's major rivers.

At the Conservatory Gardens, tulips galore! The last of the magnolias. Live birds splashing alongside sculptural birds in a birdbath. Squirrels.

Back closer to home in Carl Schurz Park, the cherry blossom arbor in peak bloom!

Even in our little island urban jungle, Mother Nature is all around to remind us that beneath the concrete is earth - her domain.

[Edited to complete photos December 13, 2024.]

Mid-April Convergence

National Gardening Day, followed by Tax Day.

Yesterday was apparently National Gardening Day. Today is Tax Day. What does it say that these two dates connected to how I spend so many of my hours follow each other so closely on the calendar? It's like my own little life slice of the month/year.

I did spend Gardening Day in the garden, assessing, daydreaming, easing into the gardening season. The tulips survived and are finally coming into their own - very yellow - matching the warmth of the day (don't mind the shiso seed heads and skeletons that I haven't yet managed to remove). The balmy weather prompted me to bring the jasmine and the Thai lime outside - after I defoliated them of their dry, crispy leaves; the jasmine leaves I crushed by hand so the plant could mulch itself, ...

...while the Thai lime leaves got collected for future use (the dried are not as fragrant as the fresh leaves, but I have seasoned rice with it, seen recipes calling for the fresh in soups and stews - which should rehydrate the dried, maybe?). Let's see how much the lime tree bounces back; it seems the new growth happens where the wood is still green, which isn't very much of the little tree.

I never did start the tomato seedlings over Winter (even as everyone else out in Instagram gardening world were starting from back in January or February, I sat with the guilt and the cloud of non-accomplishment and inertia), so we're going to try some direct sowing this year. I have more seeds that I collected and may attempt some very late eggshell seedlings, too, as insurance - a hedge against the direct sows not germinating. In the meantime, there are rainy days ahead, so I wanted to capitalize and get some lazy growing going by sprinkling seeds from these shriveled fruit (insect eaten, or split, or starting to mold post-last harvest, so they weren't consumed), then burying the dried fruit. We'll see if anything emerges.

On that note, the two survivors of the one-time Maple Triplets are leafing at very different rates; oddly, the bigger one is more stunted in leaf than the medium one, while the smallest just seems dead.

Also emergent, in one of the large nursery pots where a seed tomato was sown, a sugar snap pea - finally! I was afraid none would germinate. It's surrounded by chickweed, though, so I'll need to give it some breathing and growing room.

All that gardening (mostly garden contemplation) was really just procrastination on filing my tax returns (and tending to other dreaded household tasks). Even those of us in tax-centered fields can dread the actual exercise of preparing an income tax return.... All I did was buy myself some time, hopefully to be picked up and done once and for all sooner rather than later.

So my metaphysical small sliver of the calendar: Gardening Day (passion, fun, love), then Tax Day (work, drudgery, responsibility) represents the struggle between distraction versus duty that has always been present in my life, from my earliest childhood schooldays. It's like my chronological analog to the Greek drama masks depicting comedy and tragedy.

Neighbor, Mentor, No More

Marking the passing of a former colleague and champion.

Musician in passageway leading north to the Angel of the Waters at Bethesda Fountain, erected to commemorate the completion of the Croton Aqueduct. Its sculptor, Emma Stebbins, "linked the new, pure city water flowing from the fountain to the healing powers of the biblical pool, and quoted John 5:2-4 at the statue's dedication, saying 'Now there is at Jerusalem by the sheep market a pool, which is called... Bethesda... whoever then first after the troubling of the waters stepped in was made whole of whatsoever disease he had.' "

Walking north into Central Park yesterday, there were familiar sights...

Wollman Rink.

... and then ones I had either never seen before or did not remember, ...

The Dairy.

Chess and Checkers House.

...as it is not often that I enter at the southern end.

I had been curious to search for the pet memorial tree when I first heard of it, but was prompted actually to go after I thought I recognized in the news clip a friend of a friend, who confirmed it was him, and urged me to look for the tree. But I was busy pre-Christmas, and said vaguely I would postpone the excursion for when I had more time, possibly during my staycation. And so yesterday, the stars aligned; the dentist was near the park, and I knew the weather would become inclement.

The music was "It's Now or Never." We only have the now.

This window of time that is all my own to spend as I wish is a luxury that I fully appreciate. Yorkville is not so far from Central Park, but it is no longer "my" park the way it was when I lived farther west, in one of the buildings in this vintage photo....

...Back then, I went running at the Reservoir regularly. Sissy and I moved there for easy access to the subway so we could commute to work; for me, that was my first BigLaw job as an attorney.

It was during my first on-site interviews for that position that I met the man who shaped my private practice career; I followed him through three firms - we'll call him The Engine (to my caboose). He was the highest ranking attorney I spoke with that day, so I have no doubt he was key to my getting hired. Then, at a time when I was starting to struggle with the partners there (in part as he assigned me more and more work for his clients, leaving me stretched to complete their assignments), he decided to leave and asked me to join him at a smaller firm, and I did. He negotiated for me and the other associates who also followed him to be paid the same as we would have been paid had we stayed in BigLaw. When he left that second firm to go back to BigLaw, again I followed. They were all mutually beneficial moves, but he chose and championed me.

He wrote my reference letter when I bought my apartment and walked me through the co-op buying process, how to check the outlets on the walkthrough, how to do due diligence. When we went to colleagues' weddings, we were dance partners and effectively each other's platonic dates (I consistently had no +1; his partner was long distance and unwilling to attend others' weddings in those years before Windsor). When I had my first significant surgery, he offered to donate his blood to me (although I think he would have been precluded); it was more than Lil' Bro was initially willing to offer.

Snowdrops, appearing early.

But he was also one of my bosses, and that made things complicated - for me, anyway. I was never able to shake that he was an authority figure, my superior, never comfortable that we could be true friends. It seemed that was less of a struggle for my other colleagues - by and large white. Even colleagues junior to me had an easier relationship with him, more parity. I have wondered whether that was a cultural block that I needed to own. In any event, he could be difficult to work for, and was often a source of my stress and strain during my BigLaw years. He commented on at least one review that I was not responsive to emails when away at the office; he would send emails in the middle of the night. He had cancer during my last few years in BigLaw, and, through no fault of his, I had to carry the mantle for the clients I had covered all those years, but coordinate with other partners on the work, which left me in awkward situations when he tried to remain involved in spite of management directives to step back and heal, and that added as well to my ultimate decision to leave. Though I waited, dutiful soldier, until a period he was relatively well and back (remotely) full time. So, yes, we had a complicated relationship.

Bulbs emerging too soon.

I think we could have been true friends if I had left sooner - perhaps a decade earlier, before the final firm, when it was already clear to me I was experiencing burnout and did not want to be a BigLaw partner. Not leaving sooner is entirely on me. We always got on well in social situations. I was always very comfortable with his partner, both of us commiserating over The Engine's being constantly chained to his Blackberry or phone through the decades, at the beck and call of his clients - to our respective detriment.

Hollow tree; so decayed that it was possible to see skylight on the other side through a small hole.

The Engine died recently, succumbing to the cancer, without completing his sixth decade. I have struggled to feel truly bereft. I am so sad for his partner; I don't at all like to think that The Engine was in pain at the end. But I had communicated with him less and less, even when we were still colleagues, and often prepared to take a defensive stance when we did toward the end of my BigLaw tenure. I feel some guilt for that, considering all he did for me. But I am also leaving myself space to work through my associating his role with much of what made me unhappy in BigLaw. Certainly there were other partners who reinforced the conditions that became unbearable for me. But I was a caboose, and he was always The Engine.

HIS park was always Central Park for the entire time I knew him; he lived near or across from it and walked there regularly, even toward the end. He was active in his neighborhood association, and was delighted when he saw my photo in a newsletter for participating in a tree trimming event organized by them. The Central Park Conservancy and that neighborhood association are designated recipients of gifts in his memory; he championed them, as he did me (after all, they do much of the work that contributes to his home value).

Pigeon patron of Fifth Avenue.

But I, for one, knew early on that I did not want to do what it would take to live across the street from Central Park; I did not want the lifestyle he had chosen, the stresses he had taken on. He showed me what grasping that brass ring required. And, in the end, there was not time for him to spend with his partner, except in sickness. It wasn't worth it for me. Even had he lived to see a proper retirement, that was not the journey I wanted.

Evergreen, lit for the holidays.

Park Avenue median, maintained at the north end by Carnegie Hill Neighborhood Association.

I thought of him as I walked home yesterday, through his park. And as I passed the Christmas trees on Park Avenue, the ceremonial lighting of which he used to attend annually with friends, inviting them for hot chocolate beforehand at his apartment. And as I went by other spots in the neighborhood.

Small wall hanging on the wall of a school across the street from the funeral home that handled The Engine's arrangements, and that will host his memorial.

He taught me much by what he did, but perhaps even moreso by what he didn't do. He was instrumental in many of my major life decisions, and set me up for the life I have. And I am so grateful for that.

Better, Incrementally

Reflecting on one "Great Resignation" - My Own

Rum cake, produced by a Black woman owned and operated Upstate business that had set up by the firm cafeteria earlier in December. Shared tonight at the Mothership.

Yesterday was the last day at work this first full calendar year with my BigFin employer, as next week I will be off for Christmas and am taking vacation days until the new year. So it seems a good time to take a step back and assess.

Generally, I feel this job is so much better for my well-being. Though on a daily basis, I wonder where the time goes, still, and am incredulous that maybe I was better able to keep my life in order while at BigLaw?!!

Better: That I can schedule vacation days at year end without coordinating with all of my colleagues and feeling guilted (living locally and being childless and not Christian or Jewish) into being on duty and covering work assignments during the time between Christmas and New Year when everyone else is off. The lack of anxiety about being responsible for implementing year-end estate planning. That vacation days away are by and large respected. Summer wellness days. Perhaps they are only superficial, but the employer campaigns around promoting good eating, women and minority and disabled owned and operated small businesses, supporting charitable monetary contributions and for community volunteerism through matching funds. That my supervisors are not micromanagers, though I've come to the realization that maybe I need a little more of that for full productivity; so far, however, my ok productivity seems to be good enough (knock on wood). That the saner pace and respect for my time, respect for ME, has allowed me to spend more quality time and be actually PRESENT with the people I care about, and also to volunteer and participate in mentoring programs - activities I also care about. That was the goal, the whole point of changing jobs.

And yet: My home remains a mess; so much so that I have yet to host. The Jardin is as feral as it's been in a while. I cook less than I did and snack for dinner more regularly than I care to admit. I regularly fall asleep on the couch trying to multitask and watch the late evening news, awaken in the middle of the night, and then drag myself into bed. My exercise routine feels rather cursory and irregular. There are days when I cannot manage to get out of bed before afternoon, as if I were still burnt out - maybe there's lingering PTSD from BigLaw? These are all regular life maintenance routines that I want to be more diligent about and handle better.

Suspected impediments: Too much time spent perusing social media. Lack of appropriate media devices in the kitchen. Cluttered abode cluttering my mind.

Goals: Tackle those, and see if those areas of my daily life that are in disarray can't be straightened out so that the true promise of this job, and of my home life, can be unlocked. Some of that starts next week during my staycation. Wish me luck!

Midweek Mariner Munchies

Sailing past tragedy in Battery Park City 22 years after 9/11.

Throwing back to this past sunset-perfect Wednesday, when I met up with two friends/classmates/colleagues on the Westside at a boat on the Hudson for a most lovely catch-up.

Photos are unfiltered. The hues were just like that in real life. The city was all aglow.

As I waited for my friends to arrive, I watched the boat with trepidation as it rocked periodically. Learning from past outings at similar venues, my choice of juice and water only libations staved off any motion sickness, thankfully (better for my health, anyway). Not an issue for my one friend who I learned during our catch-up went to sailing camp over several summers in high school, and crewed boats during those years.

It happens that the pier was just north of where I might have finished out high school, had construction actually kept to schedule (but in the nation's largest school district, how realistic was that?).

My alma mater - in this location - became a staging ground for the recovery efforts 22 years ago. And then all of New York City, and the students who attended at the time, were called to resume normal life while the wreckage was still smoldering. That became their service to City and country.

Note the photo with the sailboat; in the background, over New Jersey, is a plane ... how low it appears in that perspective.

And as we dined and talked, we saw the test lighting of the Tribute in Light ahead of this Monday. The test lights were turned off at one point. But they were back on as we left, and as we walked to the subway, we all remembered where we were that day, freshly minted from law school - one of us having already started at our first firm; one of us abroad finishing out the post-Bar trip; one of us in the air in a plane over the Pacific and oblivious to that morning's events as they unfolded, until unexpectedly landing in Canada 6 hours later. 22 years, and we each remember it like it was yesterday. It is how trauma works, they say. 

That shaped our lives in so many ways - ripple effects. Knowing how arbitrary is the Grim Reaper, I had consciously endeavored to keep my work in balance with my outside life. But with the long recession and all the layoffs, the fear of unemployment was pervasive - I had tons of work, for which I was grateful, and I put my head down and did it like a good little worker bee. And set a horrible precedent - that I only managed to crawl out from under last year. This midweek meetup was one direct result of trying to recalibrate.

To sailing past the rough waters, but never losing the lessons of the seas.