The Power of Proximity
I arrive downtown. My pattern of coming here several times a week evaporated during Covid. Now, just the thought of needing to commute triggers a tinge of irrational resentment. It evaporates once I'm in motion on the train. Even after abundant experience, there can still be a chasm between idea and reality. Being among the people and tall buildings, immersed in the relative congestion, I realize in retrospect now provided a sense of connection and centeredness. But this center didn't hold, hasn't. The food hall is half empty at peak lunchtime. Nonetheless, my sour morning mood lifts being here, out and about, like old times. Purpose and momentum are difficult to sustain in isolation; they require proximity to some larger whole. I eat my lunch alone by a window, but surrounded, both apart and a part. Unlike the majority around me whose ID badges hang around their necks like some kind of preparatory noose, I can and will escape outside. Walking to my appointment, I remember meetings I attended in some of the buildings I pass, their architecture invoking my otherwise very temporary memory. I recall the stunning river and city view from the 30th floor corporate law office, it's double-high reception area conveying a sudden expansiveness immediately upon exiting the confines of the elevator. Compression and release. To the right, seated at a desk, dwarfed by the effect, a receptionist was there to greet, screen, and guide, unimpressed by her privileged perch (and probably very tired of each arriving visitor who was). Down on the street, I keep moving, through the summer heat, toward my meeting, my footsteps among many.
