Good evening peeps!
So yesterday morning I was helping my best friend pack up his stuff for a month-long writers retreat in upstate New York. Without going through a lot of details, he's been through a lot over the past year/year and a half and I truly believe that his admission into the program was an example of the "one door closes, another one opens" paradigm.
He's certainly been there for me too as I've gone through a lot of transitions over the past couple years myself.
To be honest, I was getting quietly anxious these past few days wondering what I would do without him for a whole month. But you know, what they say, if you love something, set it free and all that. You know you really love someone if you support their dreams, even if their dreams take them away from you. (and if they don't come back, hunt them down and all that :) )
He had a lot of bags and so I suggested that I go to the lobby of his building and pick up one of those big luggage carts - the kind they have in hotels. I took the service elevator since I figured I wouldn't be so selfish as to tie up one of the regular elevators. I got in and the door shut and the thing moved, lurched and then stopped. And then it kept stopping. It stopped for a good long while. And oh yeah, the door didn't open. And then it dawned on me that I was trapped in an elevator. How R. Kelly of me.
I've heard it say that you're not a real New Yorker until you've been stuck in an elevator. Well, I've been either traveling to or living in this city since June 1991 and this is a first. So I guess I'm finally a real New Yorker (you mean, grumbling at tourists who walk six abreast on the sidewalks doesn't make me a real New Yorker? <wink>)
Anyway, like a good provocateur, I pushed all the buttons (LOL) and rang the bell just like Anita Ward... and it's at that moment that I started having an anxiety attack because all I could think about was that I was going to plunge to my death. Where the fuck was Lassie when you REALLY needed her to tell people that Timmy is in the well?
If you've never been stuck in an elevator there's a kind of weird thing that happens. On one hand you kind of think that any moment could be your last. That it could all just give way and that would be it.
Bill Cosby has a great routine where he jokes that in the event of an elevator fall, he would jump up at the last minute - and that there might be a bunch of crumpled bodies on the floor and one head stuck through the top... it was funny when I was 6, wasn't laughing so much now.
And then the crowbar. The super tried to jimmi the door open with a crowbar. The whole car rattled like he was trying to shake down a Milky Way from the top shelf of a vending machine. And I was kind of glad when he stopped even if it meant I was still stuck.
After a few minutes of the mild panic, it hit me that I wasn't going to be going anywhere any time soon. There was also nothing that I could do about it. My friend was there of course and said at one point that he was going to bring the luggage down while we waited for the elevator repair guy. What could I say, I was all for encouraging his time management skills.
So I got comfortable and pulled out a book. I had to trust that someone was looking out for me and I was so not in control.
And a half hour later the doors to the elevator opened, we loaded the car, he drove me uptown to my place and we said our goodbyes.
It occured to me as he drove away that I'd maybe been in my own elevator for much longer than that half hour - that I'd put some things on hold to help him and others out on some things. That's not on them, that's on me. I think I'd do it again - I mean, I can't imagine not helping someone whom I love that's in trouble.
But I'd kind of been neglecting my own life for awhile and need now to sort of take the steps when my own doors of opportunity open up.
Anyway, just thought I'd share those thoughts with you all on this beautiful, chilly November evening.On a lighter note, at least THIS didn't happen to me!! LOL :)
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