It's hard to cleverly disentangle one's self from amusingly sticky situations or to be a boffo sleuth in cracking unexpected conundrums when one does the usual daily work grind and the most interesting quandaries of one's life come in the form of deciding between pasta and sushi for dinner. Spending all day in an office leaves precious little time for tripping into chance predicaments or adding a dash of spice to a routine that has at some point worn a bit thin.
And while a little boredom can be a good thing--certainly better than being caught spying on foreign totalitarian regimes or fleeing modern day pirates (experiences that, though sound excitingly droll on the surface, are likely harrowing in a very non-Gilbert and Sullivan sense)--too much boredom is obviously a precursor to some sort of predatory malaise. Despite my best efforts, the myriad activities I over-scheduled myself with in March, though leaving me with practically no free time at all, were rather tame -- attending community organizing meetings was just a bit too, well, organized, and even volunteering at the Animal Shelter had a patina of desperate sadness to it. Besides, while unbelievably cute and cuddly, walking puppies does not exactly scream "Intrigue!"
Those worthwhile, yet decidedly docile extra-curriculars, coupled with my reticence to schedule activities in light of my impending bone marrow donation, have led me to conclude that I am not nearly far enough along in achieving my goal of becoming a Very Interesting And Much Sought-After Person. Ordinarily, I'd take it in stride and pledge to make better use of living in New York this summer than I have in years past (somewhat of an April ritual, if I'm going to be perfectly honest), but I've spent the winter reading remarkable works of fiction and non that have acutely highlighted my shortcomings. Not the least of them is the Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society, which in addition to being the most incredibly wonderful piece of literature I've possibly ever read, makes it seem so natural that average people can and do lead out-sized lives. I'm starting to think it's about attitude, rather than circumstance, and that I'm about due for an adjustment.
As such, here is an impromptu list of activities in which I would like to engage this summer with the hope that it will lead to Wooster-worthy exploits:
- Paddle-boating in Central Park: Aside from catering to my affinity for boats and water, there is something rather mysteriously promising about this activity--maybe that with a very good imagination it could conjure up feelings of being Captain of one's own vessel.
- Trip to the Bronx Zoo: A feast for the imagination! And what better place to encounter minor peril than a preserve of semi-dangerous animals and wholly-frightening reptiles. Certainly not for the faint-of-heart. Besides, camel rides are always a pleaser.
- Going to as many (hopefully free or ridiculously cheap) concerts: New York is a music mecca and I, for one, have been woefully delinquent in exploring The Scene. No more! My horizons await expansion, and the Time Out and other New York Guide-like web pages are dutifully bookmarked.
- Plan an expedition through Central Park: It's been far too many years since I've made any meaningful voyage into the depths of the great park's foliage and pathways. If memory serves, there is much to see--including marionette shows, NYC-style vistas and Summerstage, which would take care of Activity #3 as well.
A short list, to be sure, but one I will add to, and then hopefully cross off as time goes on. Adventure Awaits!
