Photo by myself, in Midtown.
Not the best photo I admit, but one that expresses the spirit of a given street corner.
From left to right: a woman with a dog in a bag, a guy on a cell phone, a woman smoking, a guy on a cell phone, a woman either adjusting her baggage or about to eat lunch, and a woman walking by on a cell phone.
It's been a long work week. Mark is fortunate because he's in-between projects. One big project ended and he's been free for a couple weeks.
Perhaps it's because I have what I call 'the curse of the first born'. I could never live the life of a freelancer, which is what Mark does (he's the younger of two in his family.)
A freelancer's life is feast or famine. You're either working yourself to the bone, or you're lollygagging about, waiting for the next thing. I imagine vultures or lions feel the same way, just waiting for the next big meal.
I could never do it. The anxiety would eat me away inside, until I'd become a quivering nervous wreck driving people around me nuts. I need the security, or rather, the sense of security that a regular, grueling job provides.
Mark handles the pressure and on-again, off-again workload very well. Our energy levels reflect this difference - he is high energy, wake up early and go full blast until conking out early, while I am a slow waker upper, who potters on and on until the wee hours.
Many people in creative fields are freelancers who work on one project at a time, or on an as-need basis. Advertising, especially, has a high turnover rate, while architects sit in one spot and stay at offices for long periods of time. Rome wasn't built in a day, right?
Anyhow, freelancers explain why, on any given afternoon, Starbucks and Barnes and Noble are packed. The subways and sidewalks are crowded too, and not just with visitors. It's the freelancing, freewheeling lifestyle of non-first born children that populates the coffee shops and diners and sidewalks and bookstores.
Oh to be an artist in the city. Perhaps in my next life.