BEING HUMAN

I have been meaning to start writing this column since I started  this blog. At first I was going to write a social commentary.  Something about how we are a society of people who live vicariously  through other human beings. Then I was going to write about whatever  the hell I wanted to write about at any given moment. That could range from anything to anything. And it could be next. But nothing felt right. Until today. Because this entry, the first one of maybe many…is raw, and real, and about being human, and that’s maybe worth writing about.

It’s 5 pm on a random January evening and I’m sitting at my  computer staring at my blank screen and drinking a glass of  white wine. I’m totally buzzed. I’ve had my gym clothes on since 8 am but I haven’t made it to the gym and it’s freezing outside. The kind of freezing that stops me from walking five blocks to the gym, two blocks to the store, or fifty steps to the coffee shop. Instead I’m sitting at a dining room table noting the way the light hits the wall at this time of day. I have nothing particular on my mind, my phone is on silent, and I’m  “blissed out” as my yogi friends would say.

I put my phone on silent all the time. To  an annoying extent for anyone who is trying to get ahold of me. 95 percent of the time people try to reach me I don’t pick up…on purpose. Everyone who knows me well is aware of this weird habit I picked up two years ago and they’re forced to go with it. If my voicemail is full as per all the time your best bet for reaching me is text, and even then it could be a few hours before you hear back from me. But tonight I happen to glance down at my lit up phone for no good reason at all while it’s silently ringing.

917.776.8854. I don’t know that number…so I pick up. People ignore the numbers they don’t know…those are the only calls I answer.

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