Lost in a concrete jungle, swinging from vine to vine.

Looking Down
Many years ago, on a summer vacation with our parents, my brother (Erik, who is pictured here) and I were riding a ski lift at a resort near Taos, New Mexico. Snow or not, ski lifts can be frightening for anyone with a fear of heights, as there is no harness holding you in and just a small wire holding you up. At first we were laughing and joking, but as the lift kept soaring higher, and we approached 14,000 feet, and could see as far as Colorado, panic set in. We suddenly got quiet, and prayed for the ride to end. It was beautiful, but we didn’t care. We were afraid, which, I later decided, was totally normal, because it is not a natural human occurence to ride a tiny metal bench more than 2 miles above sea level, marveling at the approach to the highest peak in New Mexico.

Now, in New York, I sometimes have dreams that I’m in a skyscraper, many floors up, and the room always has floor-to-ceiling windows. While dreaming, I get the same panicky butterflies I had while riding the ski lift. I even start to worry if the building is swaying. Then I wake up, relieved. (Blessfully, I work in a 6-story building).

But, at the same time, I am captivated by these steel and concrete monsters. Skyscrapers have their own beauty, and their own personalities, depending on the time of day or season.

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Posted in: NYC

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