Thursday, February 06, 2014
I walked into Hoboken in the aftermath of the first storm
this week, my good-grip shoes too short for the deep puddles of slush I had to
slosh through at each corner – not to mention the trip down the viaduct cleared
only by the footsteps of previous adventurers like me.
We live our lives taking such trips and for little gain
except the experience. Sometimes, we desperately need to break with routine, to
go where (as the old Star Trek theme once said) no man (or woman) has gone
before.
Even though I broke little new ground in that trek, trying
not to plunge too deeply into the crusted surface of white that had encased our
world, I was among the few.
Arriving at the Hoboken office with wet feet mattered less
than having made the trip and seen the sites I would have missed in a desperate
journey by car.
We are all trapped in our own lives, and sometimes, we just
need to break out for a bit, to view it all from a different angle, even if it
means a bit of personal discomfort.
I took a different route back, wandering through the frozen
tundra of Hoboken to the light rail station and the elevator up to the heights
for the trip across to my side of the Palisades.
It was equally enlightening, each step a risky one, each
footfall plunging into frigid water and unknown slippery surfaces that might
twist me up or cast me down, but somehow did not.
Three days later, I thought again about walking, but the
slush has turned to ice and the piles of snow resist all footfalls, and so that
it would have been like climbing small mountains the whole way, risking life
and limb, but without reward, needing too much attention to where each foot
fell rather than to the glorious wonders that were to either side or above.
Sometimes, you have to pick the right time and place to take
a risk, and wisdom is often knowing which risk is the most profitable.
I drove, and sit in my office where I can see a frozen
landscape and a freezing river, and know I am warm inside, and that my feet are
dry.