Things lately have been hectic. I work a ton, party a ton, and try to stay healthy by exercising a ton as well. It seems like I blink and my days are gone. It's weird because I spend most of my days thinking about what I want: A nicer apartment, an apartment with windows in the living room, a higher salary to afford said apartment, a cleaning lady, a trip to the Caribbean, a nice suit, blah blah. A Bike, room to store a bike, a bigger apartment with bike storage, a six pack, a puppy, a room that can fit a queen bed. All these things I want. And none of these things I have.
I spend far too much time at work stressed and pressured and just utterly drained. And I find myself being jealous of the lives of others. The photographers that get to be out at photo shoots every day. The actors and musicians who get to perform and sing and *gasp* do what they love and even make a living from it. I even at times get jealous about the Starbucks workers, because they seem so stress free. Sometimes, I dream of quitting my job and becoming a receptionist so I can read magazines about Kim Kardashian's obese pregnancy all day and watch youtube videos of dogs dancing to hard core raunchy rap music. Because at my core, I'm quite shallow and very easily entertained by reality television and mostly anything uploaded to Youtube. Particularly if it involves a black woman "twerkin'" by the dairy aisle at WalMart.
But my job consumes me. I travel frequently, I interact with clients, and for the first time in my life and career I am in a position where what I do actually matters and my thoughts and ideas are now seemingly important and valued. Um, what? CEO's and CIO's look to me for answers and solutions for various problems, and I need to know exactly how to help. And yet, I'm (barely) 28 and scared shitless. I drink and smoke and maybe even pop an extra pill or two on my prescription, so the thought of my day-to-night-to-weekend transition from "Work Andres" to "Not work Andres" is a Paradox which I find comedic. And yet, people trust me with big responsibilities and look to me for answers. So, I can't let anyone know I'm scared shitless because in this industry and in this city, you have to have balls made of brass and never back down. If you're not on your A game, you're not in the game at all. So I put on my hustle and flow and make it work. Somehow. And it does.
And then I sit and daydream about laying on a beach while sipping a pina colada that's gently rested on the firm bum of a very sculpted cabana boy. Because I feel captive in an office. I feel captive to the anxiety and stress that comes along with being an adult. And maybe I'm realizing for the first time that I am somewhat successful. And, at times, I don't like it. Not one bit.
But this is exactly what I came to New York to do. I wanted a change. I wanted adventure. I wanted a job that travels. I wanted to be important. I wanted to be somebody. And now that I am, it scares me. I'm scared that I'm not good enough or smart enough or that I may burn out too quickly or, worst of all, that I'll start to hate New York because I'll associate it with stress and fear and anxiety.
I think a city like New York is actually exactly where everyone should live at least once in their life. The fear, the stress, and the desire to perform and come out on top, even if it leaves you broke and lonely with a piece of stale cheese in your fridge and a nickel in your savings account, mold you into a person you never knew existed. I would argue that the fear and pressure that I feel as I'm walking into a client meeting or a boardroom full of executives to give a presentation is nothing short of crippling and at times terrifying. But, it's something I wanted for myself. It's why I came. And the fear and pressure has taught me that no matter what, I can get through it. This city, beyond anything else in my life, has taught me the value of perseverance. I can't think of many other cities that can do that. Success and adventure and challenges never come if you don't leave your comfort zone.
And on nights when I find myself thinking "Shit, Andres. You're going to be 50 and living with a roommate because rent is too expensive. And you'll be working until you're 100 because HAH! What's a savings account? And you'll certainly be alone because no one in this city really wants to date. But maybe it's you. Maybe you're too caught up in yourself to let anyone else in." Maybe. All of that could be true, but I know one thing. I know that I can come home after a long day, pop an ambien, take a stroll a few blocks up to Columbus Circle and sit next to a couple on vacation from Spain and a homeless man reeking of urine and all three of us, simultaneously, can enjoy the beauty of those fountains that shine at night. And I know that I can walk over to the Duane Reade on 58th, give a dollar to the old homeless woman who somehow broke a small piece of my heart, and talk to her. About her life. Her dreams. And even Ed Koch.
"Tell me," she said, with tired eyes and a toothless smile that hid so well beneath her weathered face. "Tell me, do you know what happened to Ed Koch?"
"No," I said, nervous to disappoint her. "Let's look it up."
So there I sat, with an old homeless woman and my iPhone, reading to her the Wikipedia page for Ed Koch. Her eyes filled with tears knowing he had passed away in February. I asked her if she had known him, to which she replied, "Yes, but ohhh so many years ago". She told me stories of how she lived in France and England with her husband who worked as a wealthy bondsman back in the day. Stories of cocktail events and social gatherings and a life that most anyone would want. And, yet, here she was. All these years later her world turned upside down. And whether or not any of it was true, which it could very well be, it didn't matter. I was intrigued by the fact that a city which can give you so much can at the same time take so much away. And for that hour, the woman and I spoke and shared stories and even laughed. It's ironic because often times you think of homeless people as being "needy" or "relying on the kindness of strangers". In this case, she helped me realize what it is to be human and the importance of the relationships you have with others. It's not always about the money or the big apartments or the nice suits. I'm the first to admit that those are great. But they don't bring happiness - at least not long term. The only thing that truly brings happiness is the relationships you have with the people that matter the most to you. It's a lesson I need to constantly remind myself of.
In a city as busy and crazy as New York, it's funny to see how small things that slip by in the day to day grind have a funny way of reappearing when you just stop, look around, and admire the energy and life that surrounds you.
And just as things may have taken a turn for the worse for the homeless woman, it's entirely possible (even if unlikely) that things could turn around for her once more. And that's the whole point, isn't it? Possibility. There's always a possibility for something, or someone, great to come along. But we need to be available and open to those opportunities without letting fear or self-doubt get in the way.
I tend to lose sight of that notion, particularly when I get too caught up in the daily grind. I used to think "What do I want to do with my life?" or "How do I do what I love and still be able to make money?" And now, strangely enough, I more often times think, "What do I want to get out of my life right now?" Because this moment is all that exists and matters. The right now. So what do I want out of my life right now? I'm still figuring some of that out, but I can confidently say that I want a direction that points forward. And I think I'm finally getting it because at least I now know that I'm asking the right questions. And in time, the answers and solutions will come. They always do. Even if it's at 2am in Columbus Circle on ambien, chatting with an old, homeless billionaire.
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