The Breakdown

Today was just one of those days. I had to do the work of two people today and the kids just drove me crazy. If they weren't crying about hurt fingers or itchy eyes, they were fighting over books and spots at the breakfast table, or too busy caring about Tyshawn calling them a name than my improvised lessons in Math. Then we ended the day with a birthday party that brought more screaming and more crying as chips were fought over, juice was spilled, and games of musical chairs were not won. Why do I work at this school?

On my way home, zoning out from the chaos around me on 96th Street, almost near the safety of the solitude and serenity of my teal-painted bedroom, a woman grabs my arm and says "You need to help me." I am startled and frightened to be grabbed by a stranger, yet I notice right away that this woman truly is in need - she's in her 60's and dressed in what I quickly decide are normal clothes for a woman who can afford rent on the Upper West Side. "I'm going to faint, you need to help me," she pleads, still grabbing my arm. Now invested, I say, "Ok, calm down, I'll help. What do you need?" "I need to get home." "Ok, I'll get you a cab," I say, and then spend what feels like ten whole minutes trying to flag down a cab. Hundreds of people walk by. Don't they see me frantically trying to help this woman? Don't they see her nearly collapsing on the sidewalk. It's rush hour. No one is paying attention to me - including the cabs. Why did this woman have to pick me? The girl who was already having a rough day and so desperately wanting to get home. But I can't leave this woman now. Two different cab drivers refuse me. I ask a man getting in a cab if he can sacrifice it for this woman who is a stranger even to me. (I definitely sound crazy, and if I were that man, I might have ignored me, too.) Finally I convince the fourth cab to take this woman home ten blocks away and guide her over the cab and close the door. Did that really just happen? Why do I live in New York?

I get to my apartment building and open the elevator door to find the scariest dog in my building - the one who doesn't have pupils in his eyes - coming right at me, growling, and it's owner screaming "Close the door!" as if it is my fault her unleashed dog was about to bite my leg off. This is the icing on the cake that sets into motion my flood of tears. Why is this my life?!

I call my boyfriend, crying, and he tells me to "Relax, calm down, take a deep breath" --- as if those weren't the exact same words I told 20 Kindergartners and a fainting woman all day long. Why couldn't I tell myself this?! Sometimes when you've spent the whole day being patient and strong for other people, it is hard to be patient and strong for yourself.

I have tons of homework and chores to do. But I put that all aside, switch my iPod to the playlist called "Weekend," ...and I run...

I run away from my problems. Away from this stressful, emotional day. Away from myself. From the girl who is literally crying over spilled milk and scary dogs. Am I the five year old? I run and I run. Distancing myself from her. Mile one. Mile two. I am looking for something. Or someone. Someone who is not so selfish or weak as to cry over petty problems. Where is that girl who hiked a mountain in Arizona with her mom just last week? Where is that girl who made audiences laugh and feel as The Velveteen Rabbit? Where is that girl who told her graduating high school class to persevere through life's hard times?

Mile three. Mile four. I ignore the cramp in my side and the ache in my knees. I'm determined to find her. That girl didn't cry over a hard day, did she?

And somewhere, between breathing in the fresh air of this absurdly warm March day and running past a dog who looks exactly like the one dog she has actually grown to like (yes, that's you, Rocky)... I find her. There she is charging up that hill. There she is breathing through the pain. There she is smiling as she catches a glimpse of the setting sun over the Hudson River. There she is remembering this is just one day of many, and yes, she can do this.

I hope that woman got home ok and has someone there to look after her. And I hope my Kindergarten kids grow up to care about more passionate things than their spots at the breakfast table. And I hope the white-eyed dog (or its owner) doesn't bite anyone.

And I hope that the next time you are having a bad day you can find your run through Riverside Park. We shouldn't be so hard on ourselves. We already have everything that we need to face life's challenges - whether they are big or small. But I suppose sometimes it takes breaking down a little bit to grow up.