“I’m not trying to spark a debate about the virtues of being an early bird versus a night owl…But I’ve found power in embracing the rhythms of life instead of fighting against them. There’s value in making an overwhelming aspect of life feel more manageable. I’ve learned to name what rhythms are important to me, share those with the people I live with, and find ways to tidy them up.” - from “Tidy Up Your Life,” pg. 51
A pesky new neighbor has moved in. They don’t take up much space, come and go freely, and aren’t particularly loud, but they are early risers—pre-sunrise early. Before I’m even awake, they’re up, cooing and flapping their little wings, sitting on my windowsill, proudly looking in.
After more than a decade in our apartment, the pigeons of New York City—those filthy, flying rats—have finally breached the mesh fortress that once stretched across the narrow open air shaft between our building and the one next door. My wife, daughters, and I live in a railroad-style apartment, long and narrow, running from the front of the building all the way to the back. The neighboring building is so close that the only thing separating us is the open air shaft—a vertical column of space that lets in just enough light and air to keep our inside rooms from feeling like caves.
The shaft exists in a kind of no-man’s land. It’s like that gray area at the airport, when you’ve left one country, landed in another, but haven’t yet had your passport stamped giving you access into the next. Who’s responsible for it? No one? Everyone?
