Good morning,
Q: ?
A: Part one...
A: Part two...
A: Part three...
And part nonsense...
Good luck.
Tim
07/26/2016
Harvard Square at Mass Ave/ Dunster (7:29 pm)
Seaport Hotel (8:28 pm)
Hubway's fine (as in penalty, not good) system presents the occasional interesting case study. On this night, absent-minded like a first-time tourist rider, I zoom right past the thirty minute cutoff mark and accrue a one dollar and fifty cent overuse charge. When I realize this, I'm ticked off.
But I do a little extra thinking. Since I've already paid for the extra time, why not just take the timer right to the limit?
I'm not entirely sure if the next fine kicks in at the hour mark. It does seem like a logical number, though, so I wind my way lazily toward the waterfront area until the clock hits the fifty-ninth minute. The maxed out use of my penalty-time is strangely satisfying when compared to those instances where I went just seconds over the allotted rental period.
08/03/2016
Copley Square - Dartmouth St at Boylston St (1:14 pm)
Lesley University (1:42 pm)
Porter Square Station (2:25 pm)
Cambridge Main Library at Broadway / Trowbridge St (2:37 pm)
The biggest question after receiving my first job offer in 2010 was the commute. I was living at home back then. The trip would require a train out of Norwood into Boston, a short walk through downtown to the bus stop, and a ride north to Woburn on a highway express bus. The total commitment was just under two hours.
It seems ridiculous in hindsight but the options back then were limited. Let me tell you kids, there were literally no jobs for college graduates in 2010. At the time of the job offer, I had interviewed and been rejected for roles based in DC and Chicago. The company known today as Wayfair had already moved on from me. I was under consideration for opportunities based in San Francisco and Virginia but both were in the early stages and held no guarantees. Technically, there was no pressing need to take the first job offered. But once I noted the problems my fellow graduates were having finding work, I decided to consider the role despite the commute.
I tested the trip one day before putting pen to paper on an at-will 'contract'. I rode into town on the train, got out on foot, and promptly got lost. When I finally arrived at the bus stop, I had missed my ride. The next bus was in five and a half hours.
I did the only logical thing. I rode the red line north to Porter Square and had lunch at Sapporo Ramen. After thinking things over, I took the job. I missed the bus again on my first day (but it took them five and a half years to sack me for it).
On this particular day, I wake up with another job offer to consider. Like my last offer, I've been unemployed for a few months. And again like my first job, this position is not a role I explicitly applied for. Still, there were good reasons to take it after a positive interview process.
I was initially informed of the offer while waiting in a DC airport. I'm on my way home from a visit to a few friends and the occasion has left me in a somewhat more reflective mood than usual. One of the group has recently quit working after his wife found and accepted a good opportunity in DC. Their decision to move has impacted day-to-day life for them and dictated vacation plans for the rest of us. Another friend visiting is considering a top graduate program after a successful multi-year stint in his first job. He will soon be engaged, his wife-to-be someone he met at the same job.
It is almost six years to the day I started my first job and I'm finally understanding the outsize importance work takes on in many lives. I return to Sapporo Ramen once more to consider the offer (and establish a lovely 'job offer' tradition). The longer list of criteria and deeper thought I put into my decision reflects my own growing acknowledgment of how important work can be.
But work, too, seems less important than ever. For each instance of work's positive influence in life's major decisions, there is an equal case of how the wrong opportunity restricts or damages our truest selves. Rather than allowing work to guide growth and supplement the life we wish to lead, we instead contort ourselves to fit the mold of the job description. And unlike this time six years ago, I no longer assume I'll work until I reach a commonly recognized 'retirement age'. The pressure I feel isn't to work; the pressure is to get it right.
Of course, perhaps the most universal truth about work is that we spend far too much time talking and thinking about it. I'll summarize the process as succinctly as possible.
Do I need the money? No.
Are there likely better fits for me out there? Yes.
If an unemployed person turns down a job offer, does this mean the transition has been made into retirement?
08/17/2016
Conway Park - Somerville Avenue (3:21 pm)
Danehy Park (3:36 pm)
Danehy Park (6:37 pm)
Davis Square (6:49 pm)
Powder House Circle - Nathan Tufts Park (9:26 pm)
Inman Square at Vellucci Plaza / Hampshire St (9:45 pm)
Cambridge Main Library at Broadway / Trowbridge St (10:00 pm)
Charles St at Beacon St (10:28 pm)
Riding a bike inevitably keeps my eyes close to ground level. Look any higher than four feet or so above the road and the risks of hitting potholes or drifting out of the bike lane increase. As a result, I spend an awfully high percentage of the time looking directly at the ground on my bike trips.
It comes as a surprise in hindsight, then, that I do not find anything on the ground until about a year into my membership. In this case, I almost run over a wallet on the way to my volunteer shift. I do not have access to the computer equipment needed to track this person down. My only option is to simply show up at the address listed on the driver's license in the wallet.
After meeting a friend for dinner and informing him of my wallet discovery (I'm a fascinating dinner companion, no doubt), I get on a bike and ride over. The address is located almost perfectly between two of my preferred docks at Inman Square and the Cambridge Library. When I knock on the door, a man about my age comes out. He is overjoyed but, being high, does not have much capacity for any further lifts in mood. Do I want to get high? I do not.
I text my friend- 'success!'- and make my way home. My text does not get a response.
I've known this friend for a few years. We used to work together and often rode the same bus home after work. One day, he looked really sick. I chatted with him briefly and bid him a good night. As he got off the bus, I fully expected him to call out sick the next day.
Well, I was half-right. He did call out sick but did so from the ICU. Apparently, his condition became worse after he left the bus and an ambulance was called. The heart problem they discovered could possibly have killed him the same night had he not gotten in touch with the paramedics.
I organized a couple of visits with a few of our colleagues on the team while he was hospitalized. I also went to see him on my own a couple of times a week. Eventually, he was discharged with a long list of new routines and dietary restrictions. A couple of years later, he would write a powerful recommendation letter for my hospice volunteering role testifying to my impact on him as a visitor and supportive presence during his hospitalization.
The way work impacts life is hard to understand. The complexity makes me wonder why I bother thinking so much about it. Perhaps thinking about how we do something is more important than what we do.
08/22/2016
Back Bay / South End Station (1:19 am)
Charles Circle - Charles St. at Cambridge St. (1:31 am)
The last Amtrak train out of New York on a Sunday night is scheduled for a nine PM departure. It has become a bit of a tradition for me to wrap up trips to the Big Apple with a seat on this train. The ticket is the cheapest available (usually by far) and the late departure time gives me a nice excuse to take in a lot of the city on a lazy Sunday.
The other side of the coin, though, is a basic law of operations: over time, errors accumulate. Inevitably, this means the last train of the day is impacted. Any hope of returning to Boston in time to catch the 'T' is usually lost as the familiar 'DELAYED' note appears on the departure board at the stuffy and crowded Penn Station terminal.
Luckily, Hubway never closes. It is, without question, the best way to get home after midnight. This night's (morning's?) train is only delayed by fifteen minutes but the setback is enough to make Hubway my only option. No problem.
I don't know what people did before Hubway. I guess they just called cabs? I emerge from the crowd of complaining Uber customers to unlock a bike and make my way home.
