The leasing agent told me my new apartment had a view. I leased the place sight unseen (it was occupied and unavailable for viewing) because I needed a place to live pronto and I really wanted to live in this amenity-rich building.
When I got the keys a week later, I was delighted to see that the wide windows gave me ample view of Bunker Hill Monument, a mile away. (I’m grateful that the National Park Service still has budget to light the tower at night with a modest upward-glow from its base.)
But, between my window and the monument, Interstate 93 sprawls out in my view––for as far as my eye can see.
In New York City, my apartment overlooked brownstone gardens. In San Diego, my apartment overlooked the Pacific Ocean. In Crested Butte, my apartment overlooked the Elk Mountains. Here in this northeast point of Cambridge, my apartment overlooks: the MBTA rail yards, Mass DOT’s salt lot (for snow removal) and about one billion cars going by my window every day.
Yet, I’m not going to move––at least not yet, not for a while. For starters, the highway scenescape is not so bad. Perched above it a half-mile away, I find solace in the repetition of the endless rolling by.
More importantly, I’ve decided I can’t keep moving around the country to distract myself from the larger pains and the deeper issues that exist within me. Yes, it is fun to be like a highway car and move around and live in different places. And I’m grateful for all the friends I meet along the way; they make my adventures all the more real for me. But like Bunker Hill, I now want to stand quiet and still––and face up to my battles.
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