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.
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.