Yesterday, over a delicious lunch, Alayna and I were discussing how living in New York City can sometimes be sort of amazingly cool. Before meeting me at the always fulfilling Hale and Hearty, she had walked through Central Park to stare at David Blaine for awhile. I mentioned that it’s sort of fantastic on so many levels to be able to physically partake in things that most people in the country only read about on the news.

This is often how I feel when a friend of mine asks me, “What do you want to do later?” and one of my answers is “Oh, let’s go see a show!” and for no reason at all, we go see a Broadway play on a Thursday night. I always try to take a step back and remember to be grateful about this when I think of the rest of America, able to see maybe one Broadway show in their entire lives. Then again, I don’t think the rest of America really CARES about Broadway shows the way I do and to that I say, FINE, I didn’t want you to live here ANYWAY.

But along with the perks of being a New Yorker come the hassles. The fact that oh, millions of other people decided this was a cool place to live too! And most of them ride the subway to work at the same time and not all of them shower properly and OH MY GOD WOMAN STOP BUMPING INTO ME. Everything here is expensive, traffic is a nightmare, people don’t have patience for anything and the general attitude is DO NOT FUCK WITH ME. (I could possibly be thinking of raising my unborn children elsewhere, for obvious reasons.)

My classes at the School of Practical Philosophy have helped me combat this negativity. I’ve learned a ton of exercises on how to let the impatient I WANT TO KILL YOU thoughts go, how to stay in the present moment and how, when things are chaotic around me, to really fall still and let the poisonous energy move around me, leaving me unaffected. This week, I have had numerous times to practice this thanks to the Important Political Stuff going on right near my office.

As most of you know, President George W. Bush and some other lovely people (the ever popular hockey mom Sarah Palin herself! Go girl!) came to visit the UN this week. Now, I don’t usually pay attention to things like this, especially concerning the President because, wow, let’s face it: I couldn’t care less. But the second I climbed out of the subway on Tuesday morning and was caught behind a police barricade, all that changed–I was late to work (I am always late to work) and there was a mob of angry New Yorkers being held behind gates, unable to move in any direction and OH! THE! INJUSTICE!

I decided right then and there that I was not going to get upset so I immediately pasted a smile to my face, took a deep breath and started humming songs from the long-running smash hit musical, Les Miserables. Come on! It was so appropriate! The police barricade! The mobs! The need for a REVOLUTION!

Do you hear the people sing? SINGING THE SONG OF ANGRY MEN!

“Can’t you just let us through?” whined an impatient middle-aged New Yorker with a black and red scarf around her neck.

Red! The blood of angry men! Black! The dark of ages past!

“No,” said the policeman, not caring in the slightest.

“YOU ARE BEING AN ASSHOLE!” screamed another woman, “I WANT TO SEE YOUR BADGE NUMBER!”

The cop nonchalantly rattled it off, “726531. Go ahead and report me, lady.”

And so Javert, you see it’s true! This man bears no more guilt than you! Who am I? 24601!!!!

“I WILL!” she screamed, “I NEED TO GO TO WORK AND THAT OTHER COP SAID WE COULD PASS!”

Somewhere beyond the barricade is there a world you long to see?

“Well,” said the cop, “I’m telling you that you CAN’T pass. And I’m in charge.”

And so it has been! And so it is written! On the doorway to paradise that those who falter and those who fall, MUST PAYYYYY THE THE PRIIIIICE!

It was at this moment, in the middle of my rendition of “Stars” as the misunderstood Inspector Javert, that a lovely Southern woman with a bright pink fanny pack spoke up.

“I THINK YOU SHOULD LISTEN TO THE LAW ENFORCEMENT,” she warned.

“Shut up! I have a JOB to get to!” exclaimed a few of the complaining women.

Lovely ladies! Come along and join us!

The Southern woman continued, “I really think you need to listen to the police. The president of the United States is driving by and I…I think they should just HAVE YOU ARRESTED.”

And those who follow the path of the righteous, shall have their reward!

It was at this moment that the parade of Important Vehicles decided to finally pass. Black car after black car, an ambulance, police on motorcycles and yes, the President of the United States himself with men pointing huge guns out the window of his limousine, driving on by, as calm as could be. A few New Yorkers didn’t even hesitate and whipped out their middle fingers as the Southern tourist and her husband gasped in horror.

Where are the leaders of the land? Where are the swells who run this show!?

After the President passed and was safely on his way to the UN, the cops began to open the barricades and let us through. A sea of business casual clad New Yorkers pushed their way onto the open sidewalks and hurried down the street, briefcases gliding by, high heels clicking madly on the concrete. I stood still for awhile, near the curb, letting everyone shove and yell, taking a few deep breaths, not ready to move right away.

On my own…

When the crowds had moved on and the sidewalks had cleared a bit, I finally decided to walk easily down to my office building. I realized that when I put myself in a positive place, showtunes or not, nothing really bothers me. I knew my boss would understand, I knew there was nothing I could do to change the situation and I knew that getting frustrated was a futile endeavor.

I was also able to see the humor in all of it–the New Yorkers yelling at the cops, the tourists yelling at the New Yorkers, me, singing a full-length Broadway musical on a Tuesday morning. It’s just the energy in this town, I guess, the madness and the hilarity that I’ve come to really love and embrace. And it takes effort, my God, does it take effort not to want to punch people in the face on any given day. But now, I’m trying to send compassion their way and lots and lots of love, which, okay, is NEVER EASY here in NYC.

But, as my favorite lyric from Les Miserables states, “To love another person is to see the face of God.” And so, I try. I really, really try.