Friday, November 8, 2019


Recently as I left the train station downtown, I heard a street performer playing the saxophone. It wasn't a song I recognized, and may have been just a snippet of something, but I was suddenly reminded of my first apartment in Boston. Someone in the building, or maybe the building next door, played sax, and while I never found out who they were, when I left my windows open, I could often hear them play. Practicing more than playing all the way through something, never something I recognized. Hearing the saxophone now, the image of the three large windows ("so much natural light!") set into the white, unadorned walls of my apartment flashed before my eyes.

I miss the simplicity of my life then. Marc and I were dating, but long distance, so I was usually just responsible for myself. I worked, and I worked hard, but I wasn't disappointing anyone if I got home late and ordered take-out. I could spend my money in any way I chose, and while I had to watch it, I was only just learning to be more careful at that point. I had goals and dreams, but nothing terribly concrete. I was just so proud to have a real Boston address, even though it was to a studio apartment without much of a kitchen that faced into an alley (but those windows!).

I truly believe my life is better now - so much richer than it was then - but I wish I'd valued that simplicity more.

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