So today my office was officially closed, which was all the more unusual because it was the second time this month.
I went outside and found Broadway almost completely covered.
I said hello to a pigeon that had taken shelter under the new scaffolding.
The wind had carved out a very beautiful snowdrift around an empty box.
There was even more snow on the block than I had expected; I began to shovel in front of the house.
In the garden, many of the trees were weighed down with the snow. Because the beginning of the storm was so wet, many of the branches were encased in a layer of ice, which made it even worse; the good news is that I don’t think we suffered any casualties beyond a few broken branches.
I read somewhere today that this was the snowiest month in the history of New York City, which surprised me. But as aggravating as it can be to shovel out, there’s an undeniable beauty to it, the way it allows us to ignore the cars and streets and see the city in a more timeless manner, perhaps.
Back at the apartment, I spent some time on the internet and thought about what it means to be an ‘asshole.’ There were a lot of ‘blog wars’ this week, and — I must admit — I instigated or at least participated in a few skirmishes in which I undoubtedly displayed my own inclination to be an ‘asshole’; it wasn’t that I didn’t have legitimate points to make, but in making them, I regretfully and needlessly resorted to a mean-spirited and ‘asshole’ tone, which effectively undermined the very points I was trying to make. This is all too easy to do on the internet, obviously, where you can type something up in fifteen seconds and post it, without the protective inhibition that I think often comes from ‘real-life’ encounters, where (most) people are able to better control themselves and react to all manner of cues that are absent online. In my own case, it’s also true that I have to overcome what might be called an ‘asshole legacy’ that was instilled in me from a very young age, not only as a result of growing up in a very competitive family, where winners were celebrated and losers mercilessly teased, but in a society that obviously values those who move forward at the expense of others; boys in particular (or at least this boy) are taught to ‘win at any cost,’ and this is something — like racism and sexism and homophobia — that I think is so deeply ingrained in most of us that it requires an active and vigilant resolution not to give in to the base quality of such impulses, even after we’ve recognized how undesirable they are. I think this is why — like an ex-smoker who despises those who still maintain the bad habit — I am also quick to lose patience with those who are ‘assholes’ to me; I recognize something in them that I despise in myself — and effectively want to outgrow — and wish that they could do the same; ultimately, however, the only solutions are 1) not to engage, and 2) if we do (and I believe it’s sometimes necessary) to do so in a respectful manner that focuses on the substance of the matter at hand instead resorting to ‘assholish’ (or snide or ‘snarky’ etc. etc.) personal attacks.
I think all of this relies on a sense of empathy, in which we ask ourselves: ‘how would I feel if I were the recipient of such a message?’ and then modify our tone accordingly before proceeding. I know I’ve made progress in this regard over the past ____ years, but this past week has demonstrated that I still have plenty of room for improvement. I also like to visualize my tombstone (even though I don’t plan to have one) and think about whether it would say: ‘He was a royal asshole’ or ‘He was a creative writer,’ by which I mean someone who preferred to create art instead of needlessly destroying it (or more to the point, those who make it).
When I woke up from a much-needed nap, the skies had cleared, appropriately enough.
I spent some time admiring Stephen’s new orchid, which is blooming for the first time.
Outside, the sun had turned the Hudson into a river of light.
