The Journey

iPod in. Sun glasses on. MetroCard in pocket. Iced coffee in hand.

Rolling suitcase gliding through the turnstyle as I maneuver the coffee hand-off/MetroCard swipe seemlessly to the tune of Rihanna's "Only Girl in the World."

After 4 1/2 years I think I have finally mastered, and perhaps grown to appreciate, the commute. For contrary to most things in life, it's NOT about the journey - but about the destination. When a New York Girl is psyched about where she's going, the commute is much more tolerable. Today I wasn't bothered by the smelly homeless man, the crying baby, the kid playing his iPod to club music at 8:30am too loudly, or the overweight man sitting in the seat that could be mine. I wasn't bothered by the bumpiness of the train that splashed my coffee onto my hands or the sudden halt at 72nd St. Or the rush of angry, late commuters who bumped into the girl with the rolling suitcase as they piled into the same car as me, appearing to think "if I can just knock her over then I could take her spot!" I wasn't bothered by the wide Sombrero-wearing Mexican mariacche band that decided it was a good idea to march up and down the subway cars with their guitarras serenading the sleepy, angry commuters with their rendition of La Cucharacha. I wasn't bothered by the beggar trailing behind the band competing for change with his talent of shaking a cup.

Because this morning I wasn't going to my tiring job uptown. No, this morning I'm on my way home for a little vacation spent with my family away from the noise and smell and speed of New York. A little weekend getaway in the green pastures and rolling hills of Western Mass. So as I sit here on the Metro North train north east, I've compiled this list for:

A New York Girl's Guide to Commuting with a Smile:


1. Make sure your iPod is fully charged. This first act alone ensures a peaceful ride uninterrupted by crying babies, mariacche bands and people who think their ride is more important than yours. Update your iPod frequently to include new mood-lifting playlists with empowering titles such as: "Good Morning Sunshine," "Go Get Em Girl," and "Livin for the Weekend."
2. Always bring a beverage according to the time of day: Morning iced coffee, afternoon iced tea, evening bottle of water (time to climb down from your caffeine high).
3. Carry napkins in your bag (for when the beverage inevitably spills).
4. Invest in a good-quality large umbrella that does not fit into your bag. Your rainy days will be considerably sunnier.
5. Have your MetroCard ready at an easily-accessible, safe location such as your coat pocket so you save 2.7 seconds off your commute time.
6. When a train car door is closing DO NOT ATTEMPT TO SQUEEZE THROUGH. Remember: It is better to be late and look amazing than early with your arm chopped off.
7. Look for a seat on the train towards the center of the train car. People tend not to bother you here. If you are close to the door you will be pushed and shoved more times than you expect.
8. If you are sitting but a pregnant woman or an elderly person or a child is standing, offer them your seat. You'll make their day easier and you'll feel like a model citizen.
9. Avoid making eye contact with anyone who gives you a funny feeling.
10. If someone or something smells, casually get up at the next stop and move to the next train car. It is more worth it to give up your seat than deal with unsatisfactory smells during an already unsatisfactory experience.

Oh and finally,
11. Know thy destination.

Sometimes it feels like we'll never get there. But when we know that where we're going in life will be worth it, the arduous journey is that much easier to endure. Tough times don't last, but tough people do.

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.

The Grown Up Magic of Christmas

The Polar Express is one of my all-time favorite stories because I think it best captures the magic of Christmas. My aunt Barbara Jean gave me the book when I was very young and even wrote a little message for me on the first page, which when I was in elementary school didn't make much sense to me, but was supposed to when I grew older - just like the message of The Polar Express.

A quick recap if you don't know the story: a little boy takes a trip via the Polar Express to the North Pole and Santa Claus lets him pick out the first gift of Christmas. He chooses a silver bell from Santa's sleigh. But on the train ride home, he finds a hole in his pocket and the bell is gone. Under the Christmas tree the following morning, the bell reappears - wrapped up under the tree from "Mr. C." The boy and his sister can hear the beautiful ring of the bell, but their parents cannot. It must be broken, they say. The bell, after all, only rings for those who truly believe.

That part gets me every time. Including the other morning as my co-teacher read it to our Kindergarten class. As we read, I couldn't help but let myself revert back to my Kindergarten self (which isn't that hard for me to do) and remember what it felt like on Christmas as a kid. Magic was that feeling on Christmas Eve night, as we rush home after celebrating with the whole family at my grandparents house - will we make it home before Santa arrives?! Dad reading us Twas The Night Before Christmas in funny voices. Opening presents with my sisters Christmas morning, always blown away by the beautiful array of wrapped gifts Santa magically placed out while we were sleeping. Getting the house ready Christmas Day for the guests to arrive and the smell of Mom's cooking throughout the house. My brother was born at just the right time - my sisters and I knew the truth about Santa, but got to keep up the act for my brother. Santa visited my house until I was about 17.

As we grow up, Christmas becomes different. I'm no longer excited about Santa or presents. Instead, I'm excited about going home. Seeing my sisters and brother again. Catching up with my relatives. Feeling like a kid again for 4 days while I sleep in the bed with the quilt my Gramma made me.

I might not have the same type of excitement and anticipation that I did when I was four years old, but the magic of Christmas is still very much there, in new grown-up ways each new Christmas.

This year, there were 9 stockings on our fireplace, our family growing with the addition of my sister's new husband and our dog, Rocky (and of course there's a stocking for our old cat who no one ever really runs into, but she supposedly still lives at our house). And Christmas day started on Friday the 23rd when we all arrived in Agawam again and got to share a nice dinner together before the chaos of the next day. Christmas Eve was at our house this year, with my sisters and I helping my mom with the food. (Well, mostly my sister Lindsey helping with the food, and me providing moral support.) On actual Christmas Day we crammed all seven of us into the car. We all sang along to the carols on the radio and then sang our hearts out to Adele as she oddly popped onto the radio mix.

In that moment, I felt that 5 year old magic again. Because magic when you're a grown up isn't finding Santa's presents under the Christmas tree - it's finding those moments when love and happiness are so present that you can't help but sing at the top of your lungs because you feel how lucky you are.

So with this Christmas season, I leave you with my aunt's hand-written note:

As you grow older, may the magic bells always ring for you.