They say New York City is a melting pot for people from all different races, backgrounds, ages, religions, cultures. People from all over the world congregate in this small corner of the globe with hopes of learning more about themselves and others via close-quarter daily interactions. Given this truth, then, I guess it makes sense that living in the city really makes you realize just how small the world really is.
Take, for instance, the fact that my roommate (randomly assigned) was best friends with my former USC roommate back in third grade, when both of them lived in Oregon.
Or the fact that at least two people I know are settled into the same apartment complex as me.
Or the strange happenstance that my apartment - nay, my room - nay, my BED - is the one and the same as the one my childhood friend occupied for 1.5 years as a student at NYU.
Too many coincidences, too much serendipity, to not reason that everything happens for a reason and that things turn out the way they're supposed to in the end. It's turned from a series of What if's to a steady parade of Can you believe it's? And I think being pleasantly surprised like this is a pretty dang good thing.
The other day, I was in line for student rush tickets for Billy Elliot, and it didn't look as though the theatre was going to be selling any due to poor planning. Having worked in a theatre as an usher (random, I know, but a great experience), I know that the policy is for each theatre to reserve a certain number of tickets as student rush - else it wouldn't be fair to advertise the possibility at all. This was not the case.
The management informed the 20+ students in line that there were only 15 tickets left for the entire show that day - and seeing as how there was still a trickle of last-minute patrons paying full price for the remaining tickets, it didn't look like any would be released to the students.
I counted the students ahead of me in line. Nine. It was a gamble. If each student bought two tickets, it would be pointless to wait. If each bought just one, I was guaranteed to buy the two (one for me, one for the madre) I needed, and thus beat the system, albeit wait in line for a while.
Now, given that student rush meant prime tickets for $24 (regularly priced $160), I didn't want to forfeit the chance of ridiculously cheap tickets by stepping out of line if there was a sliver of a chance I could score the tickets.
As luck would have it, one of the girls ahead of me in line happened to live in the same building as me - we'd met and spoken briefly in the elevator when we both moved in on Sunday. We started chatting (there wasn't much else to do while everyone around us was getting angry and feisty with the management) and realized we knew some of the same people.
We had a good conversation, something I wouldn't have expected from five seconds in an elevator ride and a familiar face.
That's when the ticket manager declared that all tickets were to be sold for half price, no student discounts, at $81.50 - take it or leave it. My friend in line decided to opt out - she'd been banking on student tickets and decided to swing by another time. She gave me her place further up in line and left.
I got the last two tickets.
Small world, huge chances. Strange circumstances, happy surprises.
It's kind of ridiculous, this kind of luck. But I ain't questioning it. (:
Showing posts with label storytime. Show all posts
Showing posts with label storytime. Show all posts
28 May 2009
15 August 2008
Change Change Change
Constant change.
It’s a term I’ve heard countless times before, but it’s also one that I never really deemed relevant to my own life – up until now. It’s not so much the actual concept of continuous change that’s foreign to me. Rather, it’s the juxtaposition of the two words – seemingly opposites – that didn’t really make sense to me until recently.
I’ve been busy these past few weeks with balancing work and my personal life – it’s amazing (and disheartening) to see just how easily the bolstering of one so often comes at the cost of the other. Not to say that having both is impossible, just that it’s a lot harder now more than ever to find a happy medium between the two. Being on the brink of the “real world” means having to distinguish between possible and impossible aspirations.
It means having to choose which goals to pursue, and which to abandon as pipe dreams.
It means having to keep up with the constantly shifting dynamics of life and rolling with the punches.
It means, in short, sacrifice.
Constant.
“So she’s an organic farmer now,” she says between mouthfuls of sandwich. She grabs at a napkin on the wooden desk between us, absent-mindedly brushing a few wayward crumbs from the side of her mouth. She’s having a PB&J sandwich on rye, same as yesterday and the day before that. Not because it’s her favourite, but because it’s quicker to make the same sandwich for her and Sophie each morning than to pick and choose ingredients when she’s rushing out the door. When you have a four-year-old, convenience always outweighs taste.
“Who?”
I turn from the computer screen, finally pulling my eyes away from the blinking text cursor that had been taunting me for the past 20 minutes. My writer’s block isn’t going anywhere, and neither, apparently, is my story. I can afford to spare five minutes away from assignment, and maybe even keep my sanity while I’m at it.
“My friend Becky,” she says patiently. “She’s always loved farming, so when she found out they were downsizing at the Times, she beat them to the punch and quit. To become an organic farmer.”
She repeats this last part because it’s just that important. She takes another bite of sandwich before continuing. It’s almost as though she thinks clearer when she talks around her food.
“She says she was floating. She didn’t know where journalism was going to take her, so she decided to pursue the one passion she’s always had in her life – farming.”
“And she’s happy?”
It seems like a silly question, because if her friend had given up a degree, a semi-stable career and the modest income that came with it, she must be happy. She had sacrificed what appeared on the surface to be certainty for what was, in actuality, more definite than anything else in her life – her first love: farming.
“Yep, she’s more than happy. She figured that working day in and day out at a job that only semi-fulfilled her just wasn’t going to cut it. Life is too short. You look for the things that really get you and grab all your attention and you go toward them. Think about what you always find yourself drawn to, your constants, and you’ll find a way to make it work.”
Being a journalist means sacrificing sleep, family time, personal time, and perhaps most importantly, a bit of your sanity. No two days are ever the same, but in the whirlwind of responsibility and reporting that is journalism, there is always that one constant: passion. Or at least, this is what I hope.
Change.
“The market’s horrible right now,” he says, leaning back in his tall leather chair, stretching his arms up and out in feign relaxation. I don’t envy him these days. What used to be a pretty steady, reliable career has now become little more than a waiting game – play with numbers and hope that your company makes it out on top to see another day. Each day is another round of Russian roulette, and the stress of it all is obviously taking its toll.
His health is waning, the bags under his eyes more pronounced, his entire demeanor more ragged. Nothing is certain except that nothing is certain. The stocks do their daily dance and bankers everywhere can only watch helplessly.
“So you should switch out, try your hand at something different if it’s so stressful,” I offer.
“Nah, it’s not that horrible…yet,” he laughs. “For now, the unpredictability’s kind of exhilarating, it makes work exciting. I mean, it used to be that every day was exactly the same – no risks, just plugging away at numbers. Now….now there’s something at stake. My job. Everything I do counts.”
Constant change.
So if this is the case, then maybe it isn’t consistency or change that fuels people who are stuck in otherwise chaotic or stagnant jobs, respectively. Maybe it’s just knowing that, at the end of the day, you can count on tomorrow being as unpredictable as today. Maybe knowing that you need to be on edge all the time is the key to happiness in a career.
Maybe.
At the risk of sounding cliché (who am I kidding – I only write in clichés…), change is inevitable. But now I know that trying to establish a healthy balancing act between past and present, personal and public, is actually not only inevitable, but healthy as well. Life is all about change and adjustment and advancement, and the moment you stop learning is really the moment you stop living.
Constant. Change.
It’s a term I’ve heard countless times before, but it’s also one that I never really deemed relevant to my own life – up until now. It’s not so much the actual concept of continuous change that’s foreign to me. Rather, it’s the juxtaposition of the two words – seemingly opposites – that didn’t really make sense to me until recently.
I’ve been busy these past few weeks with balancing work and my personal life – it’s amazing (and disheartening) to see just how easily the bolstering of one so often comes at the cost of the other. Not to say that having both is impossible, just that it’s a lot harder now more than ever to find a happy medium between the two. Being on the brink of the “real world” means having to distinguish between possible and impossible aspirations.
It means having to choose which goals to pursue, and which to abandon as pipe dreams.
It means having to keep up with the constantly shifting dynamics of life and rolling with the punches.
It means, in short, sacrifice.
Constant.
“So she’s an organic farmer now,” she says between mouthfuls of sandwich. She grabs at a napkin on the wooden desk between us, absent-mindedly brushing a few wayward crumbs from the side of her mouth. She’s having a PB&J sandwich on rye, same as yesterday and the day before that. Not because it’s her favourite, but because it’s quicker to make the same sandwich for her and Sophie each morning than to pick and choose ingredients when she’s rushing out the door. When you have a four-year-old, convenience always outweighs taste.
“Who?”
I turn from the computer screen, finally pulling my eyes away from the blinking text cursor that had been taunting me for the past 20 minutes. My writer’s block isn’t going anywhere, and neither, apparently, is my story. I can afford to spare five minutes away from assignment, and maybe even keep my sanity while I’m at it.
“My friend Becky,” she says patiently. “She’s always loved farming, so when she found out they were downsizing at the Times, she beat them to the punch and quit. To become an organic farmer.”
She repeats this last part because it’s just that important. She takes another bite of sandwich before continuing. It’s almost as though she thinks clearer when she talks around her food.
“She says she was floating. She didn’t know where journalism was going to take her, so she decided to pursue the one passion she’s always had in her life – farming.”
“And she’s happy?”
It seems like a silly question, because if her friend had given up a degree, a semi-stable career and the modest income that came with it, she must be happy. She had sacrificed what appeared on the surface to be certainty for what was, in actuality, more definite than anything else in her life – her first love: farming.
“Yep, she’s more than happy. She figured that working day in and day out at a job that only semi-fulfilled her just wasn’t going to cut it. Life is too short. You look for the things that really get you and grab all your attention and you go toward them. Think about what you always find yourself drawn to, your constants, and you’ll find a way to make it work.”
Being a journalist means sacrificing sleep, family time, personal time, and perhaps most importantly, a bit of your sanity. No two days are ever the same, but in the whirlwind of responsibility and reporting that is journalism, there is always that one constant: passion. Or at least, this is what I hope.
Change.
“The market’s horrible right now,” he says, leaning back in his tall leather chair, stretching his arms up and out in feign relaxation. I don’t envy him these days. What used to be a pretty steady, reliable career has now become little more than a waiting game – play with numbers and hope that your company makes it out on top to see another day. Each day is another round of Russian roulette, and the stress of it all is obviously taking its toll.
His health is waning, the bags under his eyes more pronounced, his entire demeanor more ragged. Nothing is certain except that nothing is certain. The stocks do their daily dance and bankers everywhere can only watch helplessly.
“So you should switch out, try your hand at something different if it’s so stressful,” I offer.
“Nah, it’s not that horrible…yet,” he laughs. “For now, the unpredictability’s kind of exhilarating, it makes work exciting. I mean, it used to be that every day was exactly the same – no risks, just plugging away at numbers. Now….now there’s something at stake. My job. Everything I do counts.”
Constant change.
So if this is the case, then maybe it isn’t consistency or change that fuels people who are stuck in otherwise chaotic or stagnant jobs, respectively. Maybe it’s just knowing that, at the end of the day, you can count on tomorrow being as unpredictable as today. Maybe knowing that you need to be on edge all the time is the key to happiness in a career.
Maybe.
At the risk of sounding cliché (who am I kidding – I only write in clichés…), change is inevitable. But now I know that trying to establish a healthy balancing act between past and present, personal and public, is actually not only inevitable, but healthy as well. Life is all about change and adjustment and advancement, and the moment you stop learning is really the moment you stop living.
Constant. Change.
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