Everything I Need

Sometimes I imagine myself standing on the very cusp of the amazing-rest-of-my-life just waiting to unfold.  And I’ve got everything I need.

I live in Crown Heights, Brooklyn, New York, and my rent is reasonable. I live in a comfortable apartment, with the biggest bedroom of any place I’ve ever lived, in a neighborhood I love.  My landlord is friendly and responsive to my concerns. I can see the Empire State Building from my roof. I am friends with my roommates, and we avoid cable bills by watching TV on the computer.  I am friends with my neighbors, who offer me cold drinks and jerk chicken hot off the grill on weekends. 

Manhattan is only 30 minutes away by subway, but I usually don’t buy the unlimited MetroCard; I can bike to most places in Brooklyn in half that time. (Sometimes my bike breaks down–it was, after all, my dad’s college bike and a low-end one by 1970s standards–but I’m good enough with a wrench to keep it running summer after summer.)  I’ve lived here for over three years and can’t imagine moving.

I am self-employed, relatively poor, but financially independent and doing work that I usually enjoy.  My work sometimes even relates to the things I studied in college.  (Sometimes I think about trying to pay off the rest of my student loan debt.)  I am reportedly pretty good at my job. I am a freelancer and usually work from home.  I get to sleep in and stay up late in accordance with my body’s preferred circadian rhythms. Sometimes I take my laptop to one of the many cafes in my neighborhood and work over WiFi and iced coffee.  I have more power in my laptop computer cell phone than what NASA used to land on the moon.

I usually live on a budget, but I eat cereals from Trader Joe’s and vegetables from the Crown Heights CSA.  (Sometimes I realize I may be a stereotype.) Every now and then I can still afford to support some of the amazing restaurants in my neighborhood. When anyone in my family visits me, we go out for sushi, three blocks away. Sometimes I think about how my appetite for raw fish is contributing to the worldwide collapse of tuna stocks.

I get to visit my family and friends back in The Twin Cities at least once a year.  I travel there via winged aluminum tubes that fly through the air at 40,000 ft above sea level. So far, I have always landed safely.

I had a beautiful girlfriend. We split up almost a year ago but remained friends.  (Sometimes I miss her, of course.) Sometimes I go to bars or parties with friends, and sometimes I try to meet new people.

Sometimes I imagine myself standing on the very cusp of the amazing-rest-of-my-life just waiting to unfold.

I’ve got everything I need, and yet…

And yet…