Adjustments

From a lone mesa at 7,000 feet to a big city at sea level.

Before –

And after.

In September of 2000 I moved from the San Francisco/Bay Area in California  to northern New Mexico, and I stayed for 23 years.  After  living for all this time rather isolated near a small village, some things inside of me changed. Slowly, but quite profoundly. I got used to the quiet. I got used to relatively sparse traffic. And because New Mexico is one of the least densely populated states in the U.S., I got used to never being around many people. 

When I lived in Berkeley, I didn’t notice that I had some inner defense mechanisms in place that protected me from too much noise and from people’s energy. The years in New Mexico softened this shield; it happened rather quickly; I noticed the difference when I returned to San Francisco for a teaching assignment in 2003  and a few times thereafter. I would compare it to calluses on your hands that form after repeated use of certain tools. When you stop using the tools your skin becomes soft again.

Now that I live in Massachusetts I miss this protective layer. A recent trip to Boston using the excellent public transportation system made clear that I have to actively work on building it up once more. My first hurdle is the noise level.

The trains are powered by diesel locomotives, and when I walked by them I had to cover my ears. The huge engines emit a deafening blast of  hissing, booming noise. Add to that constant screeching, warning dings, loudspeaker announcements, and other jarring noises and you get an idea of the cacophony I was subjected to. I felt overwhelmed, unable to cope, the victim of a constant onslaught. Until I had enough of feeling sorry for myself and started to pay attention.

Because it was a Saturday, part of the train trip was taken up by shiny, bright-yellow shuttle buses. I forced myself to focus more on what I could see than on what I was hearing, and the long rows of these yellow buses looked rather cheerful — like giant caterpillars.

And then we were absorbed by the subway system. Underground. I remember how excited I was the first time I rode the Métro in Paris, or the U-Bahn in Berlin. There was a particular, unique smell: somewhat dusty, not at all unpleasant. That was over 50 years ago and I bet the smell is gone forever. So is my fascination with subways; maybe they’re less charming and more sterile these days? Or maybe one simply gets used to things, and whatever once was new and fascinating becomes routine and ordinary. Instead of welcoming every moment as something fresh and unique, something that has never happened before, one doesn’t pay attention because of this “same old, same old” — a serious fallacy that locks us up in a dream world of drifting thoughts and feelings and cuts us off from whatever is around us.

People are allowed to bring their dogs on the trains and buses! We met quite a number of them, also in the streets. Whenever I come across a doggie I feel I’m meeting a friend. 

And there were some lovely people as well: a fellow Substack writer,

Joy Loftus

! She writes about films and books; when I took a quick look I noticed a piece about Joan Didion, one of my favorite writers. Please check her out.

We had to take an Uber for a stretch that was too long to walk, and the driver was from the Dominican Republic. He was saving all his money so that his family could join him in the U.S. My Spanish is about as bad as his English was, but we had fun communicating. 

We had lunch at a fabulous vegan taco restaurant. It was a small place but the food was good and the decor was definitely eclectic – collages, paintings, photographs on brightly colored walls, a blue-and-green ceiling with branches hanging down from a (possibly) live plant. I’m always happy when I can eat everything on the menu.

This bakery in Somerville is out of this world. I checked out their website, it’s a privately owned bakery located in Maine, with six retail stores, and one can order online – if you buy two loaves, shipping is free from what I understand. No, I don’t get a commission if you order; I simply recommend them because I love bread (grew up in Germany), and theirs is really good.

And here’s a noise, or better: a sound, that I totally enjoyed: lots and lots of birds hanging around the train stations happily twittering and chirping all the time. They’re not so easy to see, I think they’re busy getting their nests ready. 

Could this be a nest, on the right? And could it hold eggs, or nestlings? The birdie eyed me rather suspiciously, standing below, so I didn’t hang around for long and moved slowly away after I got my picture.

The sun sets later here than it does in northern New Mexico. That’s because we’re way more north here, and the climate reminds me of growing up in Germany. A real spring – instead of going from freezing winter to hot summer almost overnight, I’m looking forward to lots of spring flowers and blossoms. And long summer days, something else to be grateful for here in Massachusetts. I’m sure I’ll adjust in no time.

I’ll post the next part about Goethe and alchemy within the next few days, sorry for the delay.