On “Off” Time Pt. 2

To those of you whom I have not remained in contact with as much as I would like (most of you), here’s a bit of what I have been up to:

The majority of the last five months have been spent in a series of different and wonderful offices fill with dedicated, talented, and welcoming people. I have learned more each day from my co-workers than at any point previously in my life, save perhaps PMC or Senior Year on the Hill. I’ll leave it at that for details on my first attempts to understand the working world.

To begin from where my last “entry” left off —

I began work at my family’s accounting firm the week after Joe Ganim won the Democratic Primary in Bridgeport’s Mayoral race. I commuted to White Plains, stopping both ways for a much needed break in Stamford, where I began to swim regularly. The rhythm and exercise I got from my layovers at the Stamford Sportsplex were vital for me with such a hefty commute.

I loved my time at the firm, though some of the projects required countless iterations of less than complex actions. I met many wonderful and disciplined people, in whom I saw dedication and focus I had not previously encountered. Following two months of work in a traditional corporate environment, I retired and, surprisingly nostalgic for a two month career, got packed for Thanksgiving.

Somewhere along the road to WP’s, a slick patch of pavement claimed the Gold Prius, so I drove my Mom’s nearly-identical gray Prius down to N. Carolina.

I arrived three or four days earlier than usual, picking up where I left off the year before with my two bruh-sins. We turned the attic in a high-tech bro-zone, fully equipped with multiple sleeping surfaces, snack reserves, and a large opaque screen on which to watch our sporting and military exploits, as well as Drake and Josh and Zoey 101.

One week of family bonding later, I trekked back to CT to begin volunteering at my old school (Pre-K to 8th Grade). I felt as though I had not missed a step and still belonged there — for this, I credit the school’s unbelievable faculty and my impregnable immaturity.

When I left that second home of mine, I felt as though I could have stayed longer, but life moves forward, especially when you have made plans.

One week on the beach, with my Dad and soul-brutha, capped what had been a topsy-turvy and worthwhile first half of the year. I packed my bag for the next leg of my trip. Both Pippin and Frodo found the suitcase more and more comfortable the closer I was to finishing. I flew to some soon to be family whom I had yet to meet.

For a bit over one month, I lived in an unfamiliar home that was just as welcoming as any I had had before. I was near family whom I do not see as often as I would like and in climate that indulged my outdoor sensibilities, so I enjoyed January and February thoroughly. Somewhere in the middle of February, my time out to the left was interrupted by a brief interlude in the actual Sunshine State where I played adult on the Manatee Trip, a favorite yearly event of mine from ages 9–13.

March brought me to a very clean, prompt, and reserved city — one which had more museums per weekend than I thought possible. I found friends in the office and even a few in the neighborhood. The majority of my time not in the office was spent staring at colours which I had seen before — though this time they were not in a book and I was surrounded by uncomfortably pensive strangers. When I closed the gate to Oxford Gardens for the last time in late March, I felt as though the whole experience had passed me by in the blink of an eye. Oh! I almost forgot to mention Royal Albert Hall — it is phenomenal and left an impression on me.

I lugged what had become an overstuffed suitcase, backpack, and guitar case through the beautiful, sunlit St. Pancras Int’l Train Station to one of the fastest trains I have ridden to an Airbnb which is a tad too new (Oh! The stove is touch screen. . .). The windmill nearby unfortunately did not belong to a farm serving dinner. The gardens I found on my first full day were stunning and modest, and I loved how the people seemed to come out of the woodwork when the sun came out.

This account is not quite caught up yet, but I will pause here so that I can get far enough in front of what I’ve been doing as to give it an accurate portrayal.

One clap, two clap, three clap, forty?

By clapping more or less, you can signal to us which stories really stand out.