The Places That Save Us

On finding our way.

I am at my desk, typing, when a ding sounds from somewhere beneath the floorboards. My downstairs neighbor has a new email.

I hear this sound dozens, maybe hundreds, of times a day, barely registering among the bleats of car horns, the din of construction, the laughter of children from the schoolyard next door.

This same neighbor takes issue with our footsteps, the fact that we cannot levitate from room to room. All the stacked carpets and soft slippers in the world cannot solve the issue of our proximity.

This is the life I have chosen, both the neighbor and the noise. I have elected to live with the startling bugs that dart in the night, the windows full of humans who are always on display, the people on the subway, often seated close enough to spy the tiny photos in their lockets, the text on the pages of their books.

I love it here, where we are all alone, together. A point that seems lost on my neighbor.

I sometimes wonder why he stays. I’m sure he has his reasons.

Last night, I met a…