autumn in new england is a totally different phenomenon than any other autumn any other where. colder, possibly; more beautiful, definitely. but boston is—a city of ghosts. it's rich: it's rich with history and people and lives upon lives, with the trees and the water and the seagulls on lazy wings above the streets and squares. boston wears autumn like a favorite old coat, and her pockets are full of stories.
the geese flew over my house today "trailing their legs and crying". I was shaken by it for the first time ever. something about the actual cold; the banging piece of siding on the house; the popping heater and the creaky floor; I suddenly had the idea that the geese fly out as the ghosts move back from their summer at the cape.
we also! we also, in the spring, my brothers.
...sutcliff is not for the faint of heart. I grow schmaltzy in my old age.
and I am getting old, too: I look forward to bedtime at 9.30 and tried to make a grocery list this friday night. was it for this I uttered prayers, and sobbed and cursed and kicked the stairs?
growing up has been fun, though. a little stressful: there are a lot of big decisions to make that will only pay out later 401(k) I'm looking at you so I'm never sure if I'm doing the right thing, but living in the moment sure is a ride. last night I ate two kinds of gelato because I could.
this is going to be a really disjointed post because that's the way this whole summer has been, and I saw someone else do it, so now I have permission. another perk of being an adult: you can do whatever you want, you're like 21.
growing up. I keep using this term; I do not think it means what I think it means. what I've only been able to articulate to myself recently, trying to figure out why the heck I feel so old and young and lost, is this sense of disconnection to the familiar. some of that is moving; some of that is what I poorly tried to describe like a year and a half ago, when I said childhood felt like the same year circling with minute variations. I never felt different at each birthday, and so I never felt like much changed: my core life was the same, and our family did things how we did them, so I knew what to expect.
it's been weird and disorienting to realize I will never live at home again. it's weird and disorienting to hear my sister in delaware talk about her new life and things that I can't relate to—for kind of the first time in our lives, we have more different about us than we have in common. growing up we had that sister language that comes from sharing DNA and life and a ridiculously battered copy of mara, daughter of the nile #homeschooled, but we don't have that undercurrent of sameness anymore.
that's healthy. it's also weird and isolating. I've only just realized it. I've only just realized we'll never live in the same house together again, and it made me cry. I'll miss sharing so much life with her.
sharing life with people. so it's been a real three-hanky, but have I mentioned I love boston? I do. I love this city like I have never loved a city before, and I love hosting people here. please visit. I had friends last weekend and a sister flying in tomorrow, and it's been a thrill to show them my favorite places and explore new ones. there is always more to discover and more people-watching to do on the train.
people-watching on the T. everyone complains here
- there was the time a guy sat down next to me wearing a hat that said "TIM" in big scholastic letters. I studied him in the reflection from davis to central before I realized it was indeed a reflection and I was reading it backwards. this is why I did not go to MIT.
- there was the time I watched the woman next to me crop a photo of her wedding day for a new background picture.
- there was the time I watched the woman next to me furiously text her newly-ex-boyfriend. the argument wasn't winding down, but they were in the middle of deciding the relationship was over. (I wouldn't have read it but she was about a foot shorter than I am and standing underneath my arm.)
that's what people always complain about: the rush hour crowd. (pro tip: it's miraculously thinned out by 5.15, so don't rush out the door after work and you'll get home a lot faster.) I get it, because I too have had to stand uncomfortably near men who misconceive the power of their old spice.
- there was the time five of us—by us I mean women—were all holding on to that pole just inside the door, and a gentleman—by gentleman I mean large & visibly sweaty dude—pressed his way into the car and against the pole, and four pairs of hands moved in perfect synchrony off the pole and onto the horizontal bar above our heads. I just slid my hand up to be about level with his shoulder. and then, as if he thought they cleared the pole for him, he leaned in so his shoulder braced against the pole and grabbed the bar on the top: his body took up the entire pole that five people had once been using for support. and my hand went into his sweaty armpit.
but most of the time it's not bad. I enjoy watching the people with strict notions of personal space stare stoically at nothing while we all stand close enough to be accused of workplace harassment. but this is the train, and there are no rules here.
the T is an education in and of itself. between the couples and the arguments and the naps and the occasional importunate panhandler, there are also great grains of wisdom to be gleaned between stops.
- what not to wear: T edition. however, I do like to observe the really nicely dressed people and figure out what about them looks so great. autumnal earth tones ftw.
- I also do a shoe check—guys, girls. what are the youths wearing? I like to know. and what's looking particularly fly? those pointy-toed flats are joys forever. and I have lost my heart to the brown lace-up boots that reach the ankle. they're like so retro and so urban and so... gosh, classic and gregory-peck-ish.
- there was also that time when I swear I saw gregory peck's modern double walk past the doors & I texted my sister & she sent me this. now that I live in a City nathan pyle speaks to me on a whole new level. also, he was wearing The Boots.
and what are the people currently reading? the history of women voting to the kingkiller chronicles. there seems to be a pretty equal split of fiction to non-fiction, but more people definitely read on the way home from work than on the way to it. I also saw a guy reading hippie food the other day & now it's on my reading list. amazing how many people read real books here, not (just) on their devices. it gives me hope for humanity.
hope for humanity. everyone from my friendly southern town told me that "up north is different" and "people aren't friendly" as if I'd be like, ope better stay and thank you for your wise warning words of wisdom, friend who has only been to florida. also: hogwash. it's a different culture, but I kind of prefer it, actually.
in louisville, ignoring people was rude. you had to acknowledge acquaintances on the street, smile and nod to strangers, wave to basically everyone—and I didn't mind. it was great to feel like being part of a larger, friendly community. but sometimes I just wanted to freaking buy my groceries instead of having a therapy session with my cashier, you know? here, yes, it can be off-putting. sometimes I forget and smile at a stranger when we accidentally make eye contact; just this week I had an uncomfortable interaction with a server who thought I was flirting with her. it got worse when she either tried to put me at ease or flirt back, I'll never know, because I took my food and fled. whoops. my b. but the bar for pleasantries is so low that it's easy to maximize on the opportunity for pleasant social interaction—and melts my heart when I see others doing it. like offering a seat on the T or holding a door.
- no one holds doors here & that I definitely miss.
on the other hand, I love the efficiency. everyone stands to the right on the escalator—just like they always ask you to do "while on the moving walkway" at the airport: "please stand to the right, to allow those wishing to walk to pass safely on the left." people are okay with rushing. people are okay with wearing earbuds and staring out the window. it's fine to want to be by yourself, and I love that I don't have to have conversations with my commute-mates if I don't want to. ...I mean, even if I did want to, I couldn't because that is definitely #1 rule of fight club, don't talk on the train; but we do all share a moment of wonder—screens, books, newspapers go down and heads go up—when we leave kendall/MIT and come out over the water at charles/MGH.
even more about boston! because have I mentioned that it is the most amazing city in america? I did write my friend brian an ode to this place a few weeks ago.
you asked for boston news. boston is beautiful. I am so lucky to be here. I am living in the coolest part of the most amazing city in america and I could not love it more. every day is marvelous, even when the days suck—I love the cold and the leaves and the river and the crepe restaurant a few blocks away (a little farther than elizabeth warren, who lives one street over from me). there is so much history and so much style; so much brick and so much water, and beautiful gray rain and beautiful blue skies. I don't want to say I could literally be here forever, because you know me, and I'm still afraid of commitment; but figuratively, or at least for a long, long temporary, I never want to go.come on: I get to see the charles every day as the sun rises. life is glorious. and some days do suck (though I swear, I've seen some nasty weather and the charles looks amazing no matter what, I have yet to see it ugly), but my friend michiel recently pointed out how refreshing it is when people don't complain. that has stayed with me. I want to look for more good things instead of dwelling on the bad—not hard to do right here, right now.
right here, right now. I'm settling in. I've been in my new apartment very nearly as long as I was in my last one, so I'm finally starting to let go and relax. I know I will be here for a while. it's okay to unpack.
that's been a hurdle my (wonderful) roommate eliza has tried to help me over. it's such a mindset left over from growing up moving every couple years: I think, oh, this is temporary, don't settle in. don't open all the boxes (especially the well-packed ones, gosh!), don't buy big & hard-to-move things, keep it small and simple and streamlined because you're just going to move on. I've struggled to feel like this new place was home, since I will be here for at least a year (hopefully more like two, though) and it's been good to unpack everything. everything. and get a library card. and buy a bookcase.
I did indeed buy a bookcase. this was my first furniture purchase ever. I love it. I put it all together myself, with my own tools & the requisite one direction throwback playlist. "she's not afraid" is excellent motivational music when one is assembling furniture. I can do whatever I want, I'm like 24.
and I got a library card! I feel so official: it marks me as a contributing member of this neighborhood and part of a community—more than my $115 mass DL ever will (too bad my free library card won't get me on an airplane). finally, too, I live in a world where I can walk to the library and I am so proud of myself for achieving so many childhood dreams.
and now it is time to put my many-caped trench coat on and my burnt umber pointy-toed flats (I wear them with everything) and buy some last-minute things in preparation for my sister's arrival. I am so excited to show her my city and the amazing new place that is my home—for at least a long, long temporary.
