I love my 'hood

A friend, a woman I went to college with, offered me her Brooklyn brownstone as a place to interview my subject for the new book I'm working on. Our first interview was in a Greek diner, and while we did okay, we're going to have to wade very deep into her stories to accomplish a manuscript of 75K words, so we will need a bit more privacy. For various reasons her home is not an option. I thought of inviting her to my home for our interviews, but people I know who do this work insist I shouldn't do that. It blurs an essential line, they say.

In any case, my subject lives in Brooklyn, and it would be a hassle for her to have to travel all the way to Harlem each time we meet. I need to maintain a low barrier for entry, making things as easy as possible for her, so she doesn't get spooked by the intimacy and invasiveness of this process. My last subject, whose book will be out in August, had no trust issues at all. She dived into the deep end, holding back nothing, believing I would know how to frame her stories. She also knew she would get to read the manuscript before anyone else, and that she could make any edits she needed to feel comfortable. After all, it's her book. In the end, she was fearless. I think it has to do with the fact that the very worst day of her life had already happened, her son was killed, and if she could survive that, she could survive it all. Her agent noted that she was his only client who signed off every call with, "Bye! Love you!" And if you said it first (because we totally loved her by the end), she would chime in, "Love you more!"

Anyway, the woman who offered me her brownstone in Brooklyn as a place to conduct interviews works down the street from me at our alma mater, Barnard College. Two days ago I gratefully went to her office to pick up her keys. It was so strange to be on the campus with so much changed, and so much still the same. The sleek glass towers are all new. The baroque brick and stone buildings, colonized by ivy, are exactly the same as I remember. And yet, when I pictured myself in that place, even though I still live in the neighborhood, it felt like another life.

I went out to dinner last night with one of my former colleagues, who is also a dear friend. She and I were both deputy editors at the magazine, and we both got laid off a few months apart in 2013. We agreed that even though our editor in chief didn't do right by us, being laid off turned out to be a gift for each of us in different ways. I don't feel the sting of it anymore. I can now understand with more than my intellect that it wasn't personal: cutting the deputy editor role was a cost saving measure in a season of austerity. I do hope my new equanimity is not because the woman who laid me off was herself laid off last month. I want to think I am bigger than the secret sense of validation I felt at the news. But maybe I'm not, even though I know what she's going through right now and don't wish that on anyone. Anyway, it was good to see my friend, who lives in Washington DC but was in town to do some reporting for a story she's working on.

I've been doing a bit more walking lately, striding resolutely through the pain. What's different is that I found shoes that actually make walking easier for me. They sort of pitch me back onto my heels, changing my whole posture, and they are well cushioned, so that the motion of putting down each foot doesn't jar my already jarred joint structure. The shoes are sandals, so I couldn't wait till it got warm enough for me to start wearing them again. They're ridiculously expensive, yet I'm considering ordering a couple more pairs, just to have them on standby. As for my walks, they're a modest notion compared to our marathon walker Mary Moon, but I'm strolling around the neighborhood, logging steps, distance, time, elevation, and even my average heart rate on my Apple Watch, because the other day my husband showed me its very cool workout mode, which I find to be a rather motivating feature. And on my walks I take pictures. Like Steve Reed. See? My blog pals inspire me!