Yesterday brought frustration, despair and dilution to the work place. I had strolled into work with my head held high, looking to take on the world and score singles, a couple of doubles and if all went to plan a nice big juicy home run. Instead I was struck out three times and batted into a double play in a winning situation and got told by my manager that I was benched for the next two games.
With that in mind, I left the office at four o'clock to meet my kids, and watch my son play hockey at Chelsea Piers, a good four miles away. I had planned on taking a subway and a cross town bus and had mapped out the route meticulously. Something happened between getting up from my desk, kicking my chair, putting on my coat and getting downstairs to the street level. I came out of my office building, took a right turn and then instinctively turned right again walking in a westerly direction. I should have just walked down Park Avenue to Grand Central Station to get on the 6 train to 23rd street. Instead, I found myself in work rage mode, mumbling about the day's events, twitching and frothing a bit at the corners of my mouth. I had forgotten where I was walking to. I just wanted to be outside in the cold air and vent my frustration out on my feet and so get it all out in the open air before I saw my kids skating.
It must have been some sight seeing me walking across town stuttering, stumbling and generally acting irrationally. The trouble was I was so mad at myself for my performance at work that day. I was so angry that I had to punish myself by walking the four miles. I was not worthy of public transportation. I walked from Midtown East, through Times Square, to Midtown West, though Hell's Kitchen and then finally arriving at Chelsea. I was oblivious to anything. I didn't even notice the distinctive changes in the neighborhoods from the big chain like restaurants of Midtown to the hip boutiques of Hell's Kitchen. One memory I have of this was on 46th street otherwise known as 'Restaurant Row.' Outside each eating establishment a part time pamphleteer was thrusting their wares into my hand with some kind of, ' early bird, two for one, eat as much as you like, come back even after you vomit type of special.'
I did not engage in any conversation with them but politely took the handouts so as not to appear rude. All I did was take the leaflet mid step and put it in my pocket. I was only aware of this when I got home since I had about thirty of them in my coat. It was difficult explaining that one to the wife as I took them out one by one and put them on the kitchen table. All she said was" I guess you were hungry or you have a new hobby?"
I thoroughly recommend walking in New York City no matter what mood you are in. Tourists love to walk and take in the sights and sounds of each different section of Manhattan, as it really is the best way to see the City. Residents walk when the public transportation system gets over crowded with tourists and those from the suburbs love to walk because they never do so where they live. For me walking is a way of letting off steam in a vain attempt to appear normal by the time I either arrive home or reach a set destination. Without the walk, my irrational, childlike behavior tends to come out at the worst possible moments like in front of the kids or meeting someone important for the first time. With a clear head I can tackle anything including missing my son's hockey game because the walk took over an hour. Next time I will take the subway and huff and puff in an enclosed public space and watch crowds disperse in front of me rather than have them cross streets to avoid me.
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