The Escapeartist Speaks

The Luxury of Breathing

                                     

                                   I'm aware this is not what you signed up for.

I'm totally with you and I completely apologize.
I'm sorry that when this avalanche called my daily routine caved in that you were knocked down cause you were holding my hand.
You may be right, I have been neglectful, selfish with my time, a bad girlfriend.
I promise next time to be more considerate.
But right now the world outside has raped and ravaged and left me for the flies and frankly, I'm too tired for self preservation.

So if I leave you angry and hungry and yearning for more, I apologize in advance.
It's just that so many have sucked the marrow from my bones already--
I'm hollowed. And I'm sorry.
But at this point I don't have enough leftover for someone to take another piece, then tell me its my fault for not saving the biggest slice cause I'm fucking crumbs right now.

Your girl that's got it all under control, the one that gets shit done,
and makes it alright and gives and gives and gives--is suddenly spent.
And the view of the future from beneath this burden is clearly uncertain. Somehow all those happy endings once relied upon have crashed and burned and I'm left standing in the ashes of the aftermath--
of futures fallen in mid-flight.

But I do care. And you are special. And I do need you.
It's just that the world is really coming down on me right now
and I can only give so much. You call it selfish and I call it human
but maybe, just maybe, enjoying this day off was not in the cards.
But there is indeed, a method to this madness.
Wether or not you choose to accept it, there is a context to this scenario. Just please bare with me--Just grab hold and hang on tight because if you let go right now, it will surely be curtains for me.

And this is not an attempt to play on your sympathies--
But admitting to feeling a bit crowded is putting it mildly.
I feel the need to go there. To justify myself.
See, there are these few thousand distractions that keep pushing my boundaries inches from a breaking point of which , I assure you, is not a becoming side of my shining personality.
I know my absence is hard to take and my silences keep your heart unhinged, maybe even teetering on the brink of unwelcomed vulnerability, but this is not my intention.
And pardon me if I seem a bit preoccupied but I'm juggling daggers here. No--this is not an illusion.

On the surface the waters are placid.
Every now and again I'll allow for the occasional ripple to rise.
But these are really potential tidal waves carefully repressed.
Beneath these cool waters the undertow is deadly...and if I'm not careful, I'll get sucked below the surface and dragged through the jagged coral and no one would know the wiser.
I'm drowning here but never to the point of complete relinquishment.
That resilient set point my father instilled resuscitates me.
Just in time to catch my breath and prepare myself for the next tidal wave.
After all, someone needs to follow in his footsteps.

Then there's this separate issue of single-handedly overseeing thirty two employees on a shoestring budget that spreads even my talents thinner than clingwrap. And if acting as mother, teacher, cheerleader, dealmaker, newsbraker, negotiator, guru and translator to these people were not enough, I as the ultimate mediator, must translate their stresses to my phantom boss. The one who is barely there. That only exists in figments between "where's the money?" and smoke breaks. And back at the ranch the phone's ringing off the hook and my inbox is loaded and as of this very moment I have 37 unread messages to attend to. Low and behold, a text from you: "you alive?" I laugh to myself. "GOOD QUESTION." Then the midday madness returns and I barely have time look up much less indulge in the rubbery slice of coagulated cheese called lunch that grows cold between incessant requests for unnecessary help at my desk. 
The children are restless, pulling at my skirt, interrupting the conference call between father, banker and lawyer that will address my father's soon to be forgotten future. These days we need two sets of ears, so the daughter with her head screwed on straight is appointed the task of mediating his lifesavings and the fact that my little sister needs 35k for her new house wired to California by tomorrow and dad simply can't understand why. And must be convinced, yet again, that this is not a scam and that Jenny is no longer a hippie with dreadlocks, but indeed, has prepared like a good Greek daughter should and like me, knows what she is doing...

Dad's not against it. Really. He just doesn't remember ever saying yes.
We all know that posterial cortical atrophy can cause symptoms alarmingly similar to this other little problem we call Alzheimer's Disease and on that note, he's asking whatever happened to the Advanced Derivatives--       You know, those convenient little death directions you give your doctor while you're still living and coherent enough to instruct your loved ones how NOT keep your body alive if your brain is dead.
Yes, it is I, the chosen one, that has been granted the honors.
Leave it to the daughter with her head screwed on straight to take on he responsibility of assessing wether or not if my father's life is worth living because there WILL be a time, experts claim, that he will forget how to breathe.

And it bares repeating I'm not looking for sympathy here--
I mean, it would all be much worse if dad were coherent enough to comprehend the reality of the situation.
That his lifesavings he sacrificed for the sake of his offspring is dwindling along with his memory of what happened about 30 seconds ago...
As his favorite phrase "Wait, what were we just talking about?"
becomes a mantra. And we all laugh and so does he but inside we are all slowly dying.

Thankfully dad may have it slightly better because he doesn't recall the pain of forgetting. But the irony strikes those less fortunate like a boomerang. Blind-siding us.
The most dire reality that no matter how meticulously one plans, no matter how carefully one prepares, insures, shelters, scrimps, saves and sacrifices--futures have this way of falling in mid-flight-.
They crash and burn and spare no survivors.
And that utopian freedom that supposedly exists in early retirement is exchanged for the confines of ones own limitations:
The inability to read...to recognize a face...to lace a shoe...
to breathe.

No this was definitely not what we signed up for.
This erroneous countdown that mounts like a tidal wave before us.
That inevitable day when he forgets who we are.
So for the sake of his 3 daughters, his reasons to be, he worries. Constantly. Then passes his worry on to me, the daughter most like him--the sacrificial lamb.
Even if he forgets who I am, my mind will pick up where he left off.
This never ending responsibility, an inherited burden that I couldn't shake if I tried. This is his blood working through me.
And inevitably, the daughter he struggled so much to raise the right way,
the one with her head screwed on straight, will dutifully carry out his final wishes. She will be directed to assist in plans he devised in advance...
to end his very life.

So could we please move the conference call up to now, because in 5 minutes my boss will be back and he'll cast a silently disapproving glance and wonder why the hell I'm utilizing work time for my own personal pleasure. And he'll bid me his famous "enjoy your day off" with sarcastic intonation as he saunters out the door ending his day before most leave for lunch but I digress. 'Cause this dedication is really to you my love,
this one is about us. And the reasons why sometimes I may not always be there in spirit.

So here are my Advanced Derivatives:
Find solace in this heartbeat. Let this be evidence. Tangible proof.
The ultimate assurance that I am with you.
And even if my mind seems lost in a foreboding tidal wave of expectation--and even when the undertow nearly drowns me and I'm left weathered and hollowed and shaken--I may emerge less idillic, but no less your girl.
All I need is that gentle reminder that life is not something I cannot handle. That I'm strong and wise and good like that, and as always,
I will bounce back in my usual fashion. Deep I know these things.
But also remember, this strong woman that's got it all under control,
is no less a daughter afraid of loosing her dad. And on days like this, sometimes even the girl with her head screwed on straight
needs a shoulder to cry on.
To be reminded to breathe,
because not everyone, my love...
has this luxury.

Wish You Were Here

Cut off as I am, it is inevitable that I should sometimes feel like a shadow walking in a shadowy world.
When this happens I ask to be taken to New York City.
Always I return home weary but I have the comforting certainty
that mankind is real flesh and I myself
am not a dream.


-- Helen Keller

"I always knew you would leave for some big city. It seemed only natural you would end up in New York. But I could never do it... It just seems so--crazy. The pace, the noise, the pressure. Every one so transfixed on materialism..."

Yes, you may be right. I never considered city life to be easy. Nor do I claim it would be for you. But that's the very reason why I think you'd love it. New York is not for the weak willed, but with a will like yours, I am confident you would find your niche.
Allow me to elaborate...

Being a deep thinker, a passionate seeker of life's greater and more meaningful,
I feel strongly if the opportunity presented itself, you'd be up for the challenge.
You would love it there Kevin. Wether or not you choose to accept it, I know you would thrive in an environment that keeps your mind whirring. Feeding that incessant craving to expand your world. New York is the essence of you. It will rise to your challenge as well, and prove a place exceptional, worthy of struggle and intimidation. Yes, you would truly love it here.



And I understand your hesitation. May I remind you, I never planned on ending up here. I never visualized my future as a real estate mogul calling the shots to a team of 30 in the Empire State Building. I never fathomed a 400sf studio as my home and I never intended on spending $1373 a month for the privilege of renting it. I never visualized sharing a sidewalk with 1.5 billion neighbors. Nor could I conceive of calling central park, on oasis of nature. I never considered a Brooklyn accent charming, nor put up with standing in line, every Saturday, for an hour, just to consume a $8 gourmet burger. I never thought I'd endure 100+ degree summers and 10 below zero winters and walking mile in stiletto sandals regardless.
I never in a million years pictured myself living here, Kevin,
but I love that I do.

New Yorkers emote a great deal of pride in there city for many reasons.
The most obvious: The city asserts itself.

Only in New York will you find the culmination of all things great. Thriving Industries that drive our economies and dictate fashion. That develop our taste-buds and enhance our appreciation for art. That expose us to a multitude of religions, ethnicities and philosophies on a daily basis. It all flourishes here.
And the people that uproot their lives from all over the world to surround themselves with what is best described as an incredible unifying energy. A draw so powerful it's no wonder our opportune streets are crowded. How could they not? Where else in the world invites any dreamer, without discrimination, such fantastic opportunity?



New York City is a microcosm of Social Darwinism. For those who live on the outer edges of the bell curve, Manhattan embraces. And if you can embrace the city back and call it your home, well, you've already got an edge over the rest of the world. In this town, even the bums on the street have an edge.

I admit, living in the big city can be a big challenge. A series of incessant mini-struggles survived only by the fittest.. And there have been many times I attest to pulling my hair out over the noise, delayed subways and 12.00 glasses of Pinot Gris. But these setbacks are minor. A small price to pay for the joys I reap for belonging here. In my mind, to transcend the urban stress and gingerly go about the routine sharpens character. Wherever you find a city in where the living is hard, you will find the hard characters living there who know how to whip it. Those who refuse to take the easy way out and are naturally energized by the challenge: The survivors.
And New York City demands nothing less.

So the best of the best are drawn here from around the globe, joined together by the common thread of opportunity. Quintessentially, realization of the American dream. Every second we are bombarded by multicultural interaction. This in turn broadens our dome of reality and henceforth rounds us out as not just Americans, but New Yorkers. My grocer is Korean. Cab driver, Pakistani. Masseuse, Japanese. I buy my jeans from a Namibian and tailor them by a Russian. My favorite mexican joint is run by Chinese. My hairdresser hails from Barcelona and accountant, German. And since we last parted seven years prior, I have fallen in love with an Israeli, South African, and an Australian.

Yes it may seem intimidating to one who has yet to allow New York to seep into their soul, but once you do...there is no other place in the world to live.

Up in the heights of the evening skies
I see my City float in sunset's golden and crimson dyes:
I look and a great joy clutches my throat.
Plateau of roofs by canyons crossed:
windows by thousands fire-furled--gazing,
how the heart is lost
in the Deepest City in the World.

--Oppenheim