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Only 3 Stops to Dizzy's

Dumbest move on my NY trip? Going without a map. I mean, I love exploring a city by just going where my feet take me, but if you want to go somewhere specific a map is definitely a useful tool.

One of those places I wanted to go to was Dizzy's Diner on 9th Street. I was told I would be able to get some mighty good breakfast there. It was only a couple of subway stops from where I was staying, so normally I would have walked had I had a map, but now I didn't...

And that's how I ended up in the next encounter...

Let me first say that there is a way to do things, and I'm not convinced I handled the situation in the best possible way.On the other hand I did something, where before I would have just felt bad.

I got on the subway and since it was after the morning rush there were some spots to sit. I randomly picked one.

On the opposite side of the aisle were a mother and a daughter. Their clothes clearly showed that they were religious people. They were both deeply concentrated on reading their holy books.

We got to the next stop and a man got on. He too went to sit on the opposite side of the aisle, in an angle from the mother and daughter.

If you know the NY subway system, you know that there isn't a lot of personal space. It wasn't exactly the man's choice to be that close. Clearly the mom still thought the man was sitting too close to them. While looking at him she asked the daughter to move up a spot so she could get away from the man.

At first I was surprised. What had just happened? The man did not look uncared for, nor did he smell bad. I saw no reason for the woman to want to move away from this man.

Until I saw the look on the man’s face; a look of intense hurt. He shook his head. He looked at them and then looked at me. He shook his head again and looked away, out of the window.

Do I need to point out to you that the man was black?

I felt disgusted by what just happened, but normally I would have also felt too self-conscious to do something. I would have quickly looked away and minded my own business hoping someone else would stand up for this man. But the man had looked at me. Not at the person next to me; at me.

I got up, crossed the aisle and sat down next to the man loudly stating that I DID want to sit next to him. To spite the mother and daughter I wasn't going to be quiet about what I had just witnessed.

Yes, I stood up for this man, but I did it in a way that would make the mother and daughter feel bad. And that's where I feel I went about it in the wrong way. It's not with hatred that we change people's vision of the world.

Yet the man looked at me and smiled. He told me he was tired of fighting this battle and that he had given up on standing up for himself. Looking at the mother and daughter he told me that he used to be a man of the Bible himself, but that he was no longer able to read it more than once or twice a week.

I felt his sadness when he told me this. It was like him telling me he could no longer believe, because the real world kept showing him that it wasn't ever going to be like in the Bible.

I had to admit to him that I don't know the Bible or any other holy book from the beginning till the end, but that I was pretty sure that in none of them does it say that one person is meant to treat another person like a lesser human being.

I told him that instead I was pretty sure that life was meant to be the way he and I were living it in that particular moment: Two people freely exchanging a moment in time, a moment that for us didn't last any longer than 3 subway stops.

And that’s how I made it to breakfast.

The Fulton Street subway station

It's been almost two months since I went to NY. It feels like nothing has changed. I'm back to the same old life I had before I left. 

I feel frustrated about that because as much as nothing has changed, at the same time everything has changed. I changed. NY changed me.

The evening in The Broome Street Bar changed the way I look at going places alone, but it wasn't the only marvelous encounter. The second was a man in the subway. 

It's not like he did anything. At least not something unusual to him. Except without knowing he opened my heart and had me do something extremely unusual to me... 

The guy was singing his heart out in the Fulton Street subway station. "If you don't know me by now....."

And while I simply asked to take his picture we ended up singing the song together. "We all come with our own funny moods....."

It went heart to heart. Yes, we did all the desperate hand gestures that come with a song like that. "U will never never never know me... No you won't....."

He opened my heart and had me do something that I love doing: Sing... Sing my heart out... Bursting with JOY... Without fear of making a fool of myself. 

I sing a lot in my every day life. In the street, at work, at home, but other than at home I make sure nobody hears me.

So here I am, almost two months after my visit to NY wanting to not just sing, but wanting to sing my heart out... Over and over again...

The Broome Street Bar

The joke used to be how bars and restaurants were still to be considered "The wild West". You didn't know what you would find upon opening the door. 

Picture those flapping saloon doors and hear the soundtrack of Once upon a Time in the West. Scary, right?

For years I hid myself behind that joke and the person I was going out with. I’d be the frail woman needing protection. I’d make sure not to be the first one going into any establishment and it was rare for me to go anywhere alone.

Did I really think that there were fights going on inside and that someone would point a gun at me? Hardly….. But it felt that way to me. 

Then came New York…..

I was going to visit a good friend. Hang out with her. See the town, and yes, hide behind her. Not that she knew that.

I don't think many people noticed any of this weirdness over the years, except for hearing the joke mentioned above and maybe a raised eyebrow here and there. 

As it turned out my friend was no longer going to be in New York by the time I got there and other than meeting up with some other good friends I had known through the internet for years it was going to be just me.

I actually thought of not going, but I had no reason not to.

I started of gently. On Tuesday morning I bought a fried egg sandwich and a hot chocolate and sat down in Bryant Park. The suffering was quick, but not entirely painless.

After spending the day with two of my lovely friends I was on my own. I started wandering the way I love wandering. No goal, just going where my heart and feet lead me. I ended up in Soho thirsty for a beer.

That’s when I came past the Broome Street Bar. It looked like the place where I wanted to be having that beer, but as much as I wanted to go in, I didn’t want it enough to open the door. I walked on upset with myself for not just going in.

I walked around the block and decided to go back. What could go wrong? I could be received unpleasantly, I could feel unwelcome. In that case I would have my drink and leave. Half hour of suffering tops.

I went in, mentioned I wanted to just have a drink and was seated at the bar. I asked the barman what beer he would recommend. It’s a good trick to get people to like you faster. So I got my Brooklyn Lager.

For a while I just sat there.

Then came a new barman, an Italian businessman, from the Mafia according to himself and a businessman from Washington. We all just chatted for a while, exchanging our reasons for hanging at the Broome Street Bar alone on a Tuesday night. It was fun. We joked around a bit and when I felt comfortable enough I decided to share my problem:

“You know what?” I said to the barman in particular; “I never go to bars or restaurants alone. Not because I mind eating or drinking alone. That is not the problem. The problem is crossing the threshold. I’m afraid of how I will be received and perceived while going into place.”

He smiled at me and said: “It’s not important how we perceive you when you come in, what counts is how we perceive you when you leave.”

BOOM!!!!!!!!

An inconvenient detail

On Saturday, as an after dunch (dinner/lunch), I went for a walk. When I came back up my street I saw Giorgio, the guy I lent money to many months ago, walk into the bar in my street (The loan!). 

I needed to confront him about his behavior towards me, but I hesitated. 

I tend to feel overpowered by men and this guy is 2 heads taller than me and really mouthy. And honestly was it really that bad that he kept hiding from me?

Then I decided, yes it was, if he felt the need to hide from a friend then that made me a bad friend and if I didn’t confront him now, then when?

I asked him to come outside with me and talk. We had a long talk… Some stories don’t end well for everybody involved. Please, count your blessings.  

After talking with Giorgio he introduced me to a friend of his. I forgot his name. We were talking and came to the subject of my girls being twins. He told me that he has an identical twin brother. So I said "So basically no one should be able to tell the two of you apart."

I looked at him and said "Does your brother have that same thing on his eyelid?" He asked if I meant the cyst and he told me no. He had had it for a couple of months now and he had been tempted to get rid of it by himself. 

After we finished our drinks the three of us walked out together. In front of the bar we said our goodbyes; he looked at me and said: "I'm really annoyed that you remarked the cyst."

I looked up at him, made an almost French hand gesture and said in my unusual blunt way: "Don't be, you should be happy that I actually looked into your eyes." ...

Of course I should have said: "I saw you. Isn’t that what really matters?" 

And let’s be honest. Isn’t it? 

Don’t we all need to be seen sometimes instead of being merely looked at? I know for sure that I do…

Ces enfants malade de leurs parents

A wordless encounter this week. A moment of reflection…

Just a woman on the metro with a book you think. 

True, but…… the title of the book means “These kids sick of their parents”.

Here’s the synopsis of the book:

Without wanting it, without knowing it and in spite of us, our parents, our grandparents, our ancestors leave us as a heritage of the things they didn't mourn, the traumas they didn't “digest”, of their secrets. Early death, sexual abuse and other dramas: Insurmountable injuries leave their traces. They continue to exist and are transmitted. 

Even when these things aren't told, the body sometimes expresses them: It’s called somatization. The body of the child, the grand-child or the great grandchild, no matter what age, will become the language of the hurt ancestor, the "word" of the traumas.

Therefore it’s necessary to get the “skeletons out of the closet”, to analyze and treat the open wounds. To free yourself – finally – of the “cold” you carry inside.

I couldn't quite read the look on her face and was left wondering; Is she one of “these kids” or is she a psychologist reading up for her work?  

“Don’t they all have the same eyes?”

Talking with a friend the other day this remark came up and we decided it would be a good title for a book. I’m not writing a book today, but I’ll be writing about a man’s eyes.  

In my encounters eyes are often the first contact. After that most often a smile breaks free, on both faces and a conversation starts. Not today.

I’m sitting here just wanting to cry. There’s this sad feeling in the pit of my stomach still, even though the encounter wasn’t really an encounter and it didn’t last more than 5 metro stops. Yet it touched me so deeply that it has changed my day.

An elderly man got on the metro. Morning metros being crowded he was standing close to me. I noticed his hand shaking even though it was holding on to the metal bar. I looked at him and I saw an immense fear in his eyes. 

I got overwhelmed with feelings of compassion and an urge to cry. I wanted to reach out to him. Hold his arm, give him a hug, say something encouraging, but I didn’t…

First of because I have my own set of inhibitions, and secondly what if I would scare him? So I gave him a smile and his face lit up for a second before moving away to another spot.

He got off at the same station as me. I made sure to walk out directly behind him so he’d have to hold the door for me. I thanked him with a big smile and that’s when he smiled back.

Maybe there’s a next time.

But for now I was left with this sad feeling. I would love to grow in my confidence that reaching out to people is ALWAYS a good thing.