Waking up in my new studio apartment, as my eyes opened by themselves and then closed as I chose, I recounted each bedroom since my childhood room on East Circle Street where my eyes had ever gotten to be themselves. I went on a journey around the world, opening my eyes in a youth hostel in Egypt, apartments in Paris, London, Tokyo and Eau Claire. A hotel room in Boston that I booked to be alone to transcribe four interviews that I could not manage in the excitement of life in NYC.
The Soviet block apartment in Bulgaria that hosted Joe and Chris and my mom and dad, Craig and Scott, Marina, Annie, Jimmy and Dave, Scott and Brian and Matt. My bedroom on Hayes Street near Divisadero in San Francisco where I lived with people who fill my thoughts today. NYC – 98 Greenwich Street, 174 Mulberry Street, 112 Mulberry Street and a secret spot in Queens
What do you do after you open your eyes?
You go somewhere. You make a commute and the first part of the commute is simply opening your eyes. Then you have to move to another setting. Tell me if there is another way!
A commute can involve any mode of transportation, a train, a bike, an uber. For me, it’s often a walk and for Asen Dimitrov it was a ride on his donkey. I used to see Asen riding into town, his dog nipping at the donkey’s legs, and once I got to know him, I realized he was blind.
He took the same route every day and ended up at the same café every afternoon and he managed quite well.
The people we encounter on our commute can be both a bother and a blessing and we often bypass making their acquaintance because we have some place (else) to be. Who will you meet on your commute today? Will you listen to a podcast or read a book? Will you worry about getting to work on time? Whatever route you take, enjoy and I hope you make it to the café later.
Filed under: Bulgaria