The Changing of the Garb

Why is this happening now of all seasons? Spring really isn’t a surprise, but it’s always unwelcome; at least for me it is. My shirts are sticking to my chest again, all shvitzy as I make my anywhere in this resurrected heat. But, things are coming together for me, as sure as humidity and sunshine abound. I guess that this is what’s supposed to happen.

For almost three months, I’ve been aloof, afraid of reporting. I myself have been afraid to know of life after grad school, with no apartment, with no full-time job. Now, things are changing, and I’m flourishing where I thought I’d failed. I expected to be home by now, in Texas where my shirt sticks year-round.

It all started in January when I was offered a position at the Union for Reform Judaism Press. “I work where books are born,” I tell people. It’s nice; pretty much what I expected for someone just out of college who looks as young as I do. The benefits are great. And, I’m meeting some of the finest Jewish thinkers, leaders, and servants.

Since then, I’ve been commuting from Washington Heights. I could be worse, I suppose. I could be in Queens, or Brooklyn, or, God forbid, the Bronx. But, no, all the while, I’ve remained ever so snobbishly in Manhattan at the uptown Columbia medical campus, an easy Shabbos schlep to Yeshiva University where Isaac, Benjy, Leah, and others live.

Then, last week, the other stiletto dropped. I finally found the kosher haven for which I’ve spent months searching. The apartment is fabulously located a block from Central Park on the Upper West Side in the 90s. I move in a month’s time, but already I am comforted in the knowledge that I have a place to make a second home. It’s good for the soul … and the social life.

There’s much more to tell, but, for now, I want you to know that I’m back from the winter of 2007. And, while I weigh more than I should (you know, holiday eating), I haven’t felt this great in quite some time. I hope to write more. I hope to workout more. And, I hope to avoid RUINING MY CLOTHES in the dirty water from melting snow that drips down from scaffolding above the sidewalks that announce the beginning of yet another New York City spring.