This morning was the start of the ‘snowicane.’
By this afternoon, the rooftops of midtown were covered with snow. I could barely see the Empire State Building through my window.
It was, as it turned out, a rather tumultuous day at work; there were controversies in which I was implicated. Several times I looked out the window, and as much as I enjoyed the sight of the snow, I found that it didn’t completely quiet the voices in my head, the kinds of voices on which I fixate almost daily as I sit down in front of a computer terminal and basically sift through the different messages — both work and non-work related — that continuously pour across the screen; at times it’s frankly overwhelming, and the temptation to immediately respond — to add my own voice to the mix, as if to shout down the competition, to demand a moment of silence where it couldn’t possibly exist — is too much to reason away. These are the small and vindictive battles that make my life seem exciting for a second or two in contrast to the large swaths of tedium that define so much of the rest of it. In the end, while I’m not sure this is a ‘healthy’ or ‘logical’ response, I’m not sure it’s ‘unhealthy’ or ‘illogical’ either; the key, I suppose, like so much else — to resort to a cliche — is to find a ‘balance.’
At the end of the day, I looked down and regretted my decision to wear boat shoes.
The sidewalks in midtown weren’t too bad, though.
Whereas in Washington Heights — due to our extreme northern latitude — the streets were covered in slush and snow.
It was hard work shoveling the snow at the house — there was also an inch or so of ice on the sidewalk, where ppl had been walking — but it felt good to do something physically exhausting, and made me wish that I didn’t spend so many hours of my day in front of a computer, both screaming and getting screamed at by people (in some cases) or simply always working through the same medium — the written word — to express myself, to be understood/misunderstood.
When I was done I admired the glistening trees, which spoke to me in a voice unlike any that I ever hear ‘online.’
It was a voice I hoped to remember, given that for the foreseeable future, I have no choice but to spend a large percentage of my life in the virtual reality in which I must work to make a living.
But the night offered the promise of peace, and for that I was grateful.
