The Vanishing Point

I’ve spent the last umpteen hours and days and months

driving towards that pinprick in the horizon,

that neat little microscopic point where everything comes together.

There, that “vanishing point,”

that’s were everything makes sense.

It’s my rainbow and I’m constantly chasing it.

How am I, amateur navigator that I am, to know when I’ve reached the destination?

I need a tour-guide, a wing man.

I push harder on the accelerator and set new records,

I blow past signs and lights and detours and alerts,

my vision so narrowed and tunneled.

I never bothered to read any of them.

And I missed the turnoff.

too busy hurling myself toward some impossible pinprick of a future.

You were my poor, lonely dirt road,

poorly marked but ever-so-promising.

You could have been my super secret detour to happily-ever-after.

And I blindly blew past.


I had lunch on Friday with an editor for Esquire magazine that I met through an extended 6-degrees-esque connection. Over lunch, we discussed writing and journalism and life and general “brain barf.” And he mentioned that he walks to work every day because the 2+ mile walk provides him an opportunity to sort through that brain barf and compose it into well-organized story ideas.

I’m not quite crazy enough to walk 20 blocks in the freezing rain-slush fiasco that currently plagues the streets of Manhattan, but the weekend’s weather wasn’t quite so atrocious and I spent my Sunday meandering through the city. I walked up to Times Square and took pictures and reoriented my internal compass and let myself be a tourist in my new home. Tip to travelers: if you walk around alone, you don’t get hassled by the ticket peddlers 🙂

Anyway, as I was wondering the streets and perfecting my people-watching skills, I realized something about dating in New York that Sex in the City never fully covered. Contrary to popular belief, there are plenty of men on this tiny little island. They’re just not 10s. And there are even more women, and many of them are 20 feet tall and stunningly gorgeous. Given the scales, men can easily date up in this city. And they do.

Ladies, turns out the key to a happy relationship in this city is to simply lower your standards! Ta-da.

But gents, beware that that 10 you just scored likely towers over you when she dons her stilettos. Try not to let it get to you. Napoleon syndrome is never sexy (trust me).