Mis-communication in the work place can be a serious hindrance in fulfilling day-to-day tasks.  I’m somewhat of an expert in manners of communication, or so I might claim.  I mean, my job title does contain the word “coordinator.”   Though, truth be told, more often than not, it feels like I’m assuming the role of “translator.”  For example, my day in the office a couple of weeks ago consisted of back-and-forth emails with a client (with practically the entire world cc’ed on these emails) and for some reason, we could not for the life of us understand each-other (and I suppose no one on emails understand enough to chime in, either.)  What started out as a simple request became the biggest headache I’ve ever had on a Monday afternoon.  As clear and concise as I tried to convey the issue, the responses I was getting felt as if they were directed at another client entirely.  Eventually, we got on a call, opened up every relevant Excel file and PDF doc, and slowly read aloud row numbers and column letters to get down to the nitty-gritty.  “Oh, ok… we’ll send that right over.”  A revelation indeed!  Was I really that unclear the first 70 times I described the problem?

While transmission lines are so easily befuddled, once both parties are seeing eye-to-eye and an intelligible connection has been made, there’s a sense of calmness, or euphoria.  After an experience like the above, I resolve to adhere by several guidelines in my next attempt to reach out to others.  Like, use less words when trying to convey a problem to others- the less words to misinterpret, right?

And at times, the frustration turns to comedy.  In a recent train of emails with inter-department co-workers, while one co-worker attempted to explain a situation, in what I’m sure other tech-y people would understand perfectly, many of us quite literally did not understand a single word.  How could a bunch of independently coherent words seem so confusing; I re-read and re-read the sentence until I saw another email top my Inbox.  “That sounded like Charlie Brown wrote the email” one of my other co-workers wrote.  THANK YOU! Another intelligent being corroborating my confusion and we could all laugh at our inability to understand.

Could all this confusion be a painful result of our inevitable multi-tasking?  Suffice it to say that our “multi-tasking” doesn’t align with the “multi-tasking” of others.   So how do we get on the same page as our colleagues when their number one priority is at the bottom of our to-do’s and vice versa? Even after I self-analyze and resolve myself to be more thorough, more anticipatory of others, etc., and put these methods into action- the result remains the same.  Given all the perfect ingredients: the proper words and the right timing, the outcome is almost always the same- confusion.  Some might take more time to clear the dialogue hurdle than others, but perplexity is certainly not a rarity.  Is there an end in sight?

The face-to-face interaction might be where the most understanding occurs.  Or at least, we feign understanding of others in their physical presence.  I haven’t quite figured out why- to dodge awkwardness and humility when proven wrong?  Do we really understand each other that much easier when in the physical presence of another? Or is it all a front we put forth, to get behind our blackberries and laptops to ask the real questions, and admit the heart-wrenching, “I don’t understand.”

Recently, I was at a poetry reading by poet and author Ben Okri.  Okri stated,  “no two people have the same reality.”  Are we doomed to live in our own little words? Doomed sounds all too apocalyptic, maybe the hope lies in the little moments of understanding…you know what I’m saying?

So, maybe you think you’ve caught a good one, you’re asked out for dinner or a drink and when you agree, is that the extent of efforts made ?  It would appear so, but the battle is not won here.  Showing up for the date is important, or if you have to rain-check, by all means, do so but don’t do it without a good excuse.  Not calling because you were hoping you could squeeze in a few hours for dinner in between party-hopping is a terrible excuse, fyi.

Sometimes, I wish dates would have rescheduled on me.  Cancellation for a date due to lack of readiness can be perfectly acceptable, and admittedly this would have won points for sincerity.  Un-hypothetically speaking, showing up for a date without your wallet is sort of like showing up to a job interview without your resume…and a shirt.  Confidence and tactfulness are two incredibly attractive qualities, if both those are out the door in one night, it’s pretty safe to say it’s all downhill from there.  But maybe some people have so much…self-confidence, egotism, or maybe simply just a lack of awareness, that they believe people will take them any which way they can.  For example, ideally I would never show up to a date without ample time to compose myself.  Dates that I have frantically gotten ready for after rushing around after work trying to find something in my closet that looks right, seem to be ruffled from beginning to end.  By now, I’ve learned that dishevelment isn’t really becoming when trying to make an impression.

But aren’t these “do’s and don’ts” self-explanatory? Don’t people watch romantic comedies or television anymore?  These stereotypical characters exist, not only for amusement, but also for our own benefit- a cheat sheet if you will.  Perhaps we are so busy pursuing our careers and thinking about our own betterment, maybe we don’t put forth any effort in our dating lives, but rather get by on the excuse that if it’s meant to be, it’ll be.  If not, well… no real emotions are lost on someone you don’t really know, and truthfully, due to the sheer volume of people running around this city, it would be excruciating to be personally invested in everyone you went out with or met a few times.   So, instead it appears that we resolve to….go fish?

A typical day in the city doesn’t allow for much self-reflection…at all.  Commuting to and from work, swamped with the daily office bustle, rushing to fulfill the mundane but necessary errands that seem to take up way more time than they should.   Life is never boring or idle, that’s for sure, but somehow just always busy. The energy of New York is evident in the dwellers of the city but when everyone is so doggedly looking for something, satisfaction in a mission accomplished needs to not be the end all and be all.

What it takes is someone or something to jerk me out of my bubble, my by-now comforted routine, and remind me of what it is that completes me.  Meeting someone whose lifestyle doesn’t mirror mine in any way makes me realize what I am drawn to, in myself and in others, and that I should be embracing these qualities.  Work is a lot of things- though it certainly is not a reflection of me, or my complete interests.  Refreshingly, my job does not at all stem directly from my studies in college- but engaging with literature, writing, are parts of my life that add to me, that I must make time for, not merely pass off as interests of my past.

The typical “where do you work/what do you do” seems to be the defining characteristic about a person and while we can’t stop others from jumping to the assumption that ‘our job title’ is equivalent to ‘ourselves’, it’s up to us to let this not be true.  So here’s to 2010- to reading, to writing, to individual delights and mannerisms that might be outside the norm, outside of what’s commended and recognized as a measure of success.  After all, these are the quirks, habits, thoughts, that characterize us- that make us remarkably different- even if the whole world isn’t aware of them.

“That Yoga class was SO great”…wait- hold on…was it really? I can’t help but wonder whether this enthusiastic sentiment was felt as a result of the actual yoga class, or our male model-like instructor. What makes a yoga class exceptional versus subpar? Is it the appeal of the instructor, the relaxation factor, or innovative variations of yoga poses?

My NYC yoga experience has been unpredictable. At the studio I attend, the instructors are always different. With multiple classes per day, I don’t have to set my schedule around yoga class but can put on my leggings and head over whenever it suits me. I’ve never had my mat next to the same person two classes in a row. In fact, due to the popularity of yoga and this particular studio, I’ve even had a few people throw their limbs onto my mat!

That said, I’ve come to accept these factors- not only in yoga, but in life- as part of New York. The never-ending options and the hoards of people in this city are no longer a surprise to me. And though these uncertainties-’who will be attending class?’, ‘who will set their mat next to mine?’, ‘which class will I attend?’, etc- exist, it is perhaps ‘who will be my instructor?’ that most impacts the quality of my class.

Is the yoga practice entirely dependent on your instructor? Now, while I am a fan of instructors correcting my technique during my practice, there’s something particularly favorable when this person looks like he’s the newest Calvin Klein model. On the other hand, I have to stop myself mid-thought with the reminder that yoga is supposed to be all about being present. To be aware of your own body and breathing and not taking notice of those around you becomes especially difficult when, even with closed eyes, the sexual tension in the studio feels very much like the elephant in the room syndrome.

Instructors create the flow and set the tone of the class- for better or for worse. Some have been very organic, nurturing yet challenging, while others have been characters, to say the least. One guy seemed to be prepping for a Shakespearian acting course. Every sun salutation command felt contrived and he spoke with way too much gusto behind every word. Or, there’s the flawlessly beautiful instructor who ‘mmms’ and ‘uh huhs’ the class through the poses and creates quite a different undertone, which can be quite distracting. Especially when he integrates words like “supple” (seriously? ) into explanation of the positions.

Maybe we all achieve peace of mind in different ways. In all honesty, I practice yoga with the intention of calming my nerves and feeling stress-free post class. But, who is to say an evening yoga class can’t be something to gossip about the next morning at work?

1)Don’t put all your eggs in one basket.  Like searching for a job, the contacts and emails you send out, the higher the likelihood that you’ll find something, or at the very least, get some responses.  Maybe my email just didn’t read the right way to them? Maybe I was too inquisitive about the condition of the furniture in question? Or too forward in asking the pick-up location that I seem like the scammer?

2) Many of the people you contact on Craigslist will prove themselves to be shady.  For example, I found the perfect Ikea swivel chair for $10.  The ad claimed it was in perfect condition but was being sold in favor of a different model- this sounded promising.  After several emails back and forth, I learned that the seller lived in Mid-town.  Particularly eager to rid his apartment of the chair, he even offered to carry the chair closer to me.  Ok, I thought, maybe this is a little too generous of him, but perhaps he really does just want the chair out of his sight.  I agreed, and after many texts later, and excuses for why he was running late, I never heard from the Ikea chair man again.  But- no harm, no foul.  Just a few lost minutes (or hours…).

3) Location, location, location.  Really. While you might think you’ve chanced upon a great deal, you have to consider the logistics.  For me, this means finding furniture that can be carried by 1-3 people max, within a couple of blocks of my apartment, and preferably apartments with elevators.

4) Don’t be ashamed to pick up your goods.  My friend and I went to go claim the perfect stool and table set, though had to carry the items in shifts.  We walked about seven blocks with a dining table on a busy street mid-afternoon.  We got lots of stares and questioning looks.  As if we were the weirdest thing happening at 2pm in NYC- pshh.  Though we would have preferred our bystanders to lend their helping hands, all we got were awkward stares.  I guess they didn’t want to abet any crime we appeared to have been committing…

So, this begs the question: Is New York City walkable?  I argue ‘YES’- if you have the time, patience..and the shoes.  Walking home after work has appealed to me from the get-go.  I am one among many tourists, parents picking up their children from school, professionals grabbing their dinner.  Ipods and cellphones adorn heads and 15-20 people wait at each cross-walk for the taxis to pause momentarily.  Sometimes I’m the ipod listener, other times I’m the one on the cell-phone.

Though my brisk morning walk to work is admittedly my favorite time of day to walk.   The streets are not yet crowded by the masses of tourists and residents alike.  Sometimes it takes just sauntering past historic buildings to remind myself how wonderful and all-encompassing this city is and there is no better time than first thing in the morning.  Today, for instance, I walked by Rockefeller Center which charmed thoughts of the Rockefeller Center Christmas Tree that I will be a mere block from this holiday season.

If one stepped foot into my apartment, or neighborhood for that matter, he/she would swear that I’m a university student, however, I assure you I am technically a ‘young professional’.  When I signed lease I was very hopeful that I would be able to subsidize my stay, without having to rely on my parents.  But I surely couldn’t afford furniture and the space allotted for me in a shared studio makes it difficult to fit the type of furniture that I’d like to invest in.  Can I make it a year on non-stationary bedding? I’ll leave you to imagine what that might mean.  I splurged on a desk and chair, but these are items I’ll probably send to the curb this time next year.  I delight in home decorating tips, furniture stores, and imagine what life will be like when I have my own place, which I can prettify without a desirable move-out date in the horizon.

Yet to be determined aspects of my life excite me in that there is so much potential, so much to look forward to.  In one sense, I CAN classify myself:  I no longer have to introduce myself as the girl who is perpetually job-searching.  ‘What’s your name’ is pretty much always followed by ‘So, what do you do?’ at which point conversations take an awkward turn.  Some would reassure me that the job market is tough, others told me I was doomed…both are not the best ways to begin getting to know someone.  Now, I can surely gloat, moderately of course, upon introduction.  Hey, confidence is sexy!

Where does one go to meet someone of substance?  Substance is a relatively loose term; I guess it should be individually defined.  For me, it’s someone who says what he feels and feels what he says (not to sound too much like Dr. Seuss).  Surprisingly hard to find.  I’ve heard the age-old ‘never will you meet anyone worthwhile in a bar’ but I’m weary this might be out-of-date.  My argument? A) I go there, and I would like to think I’m a person of substance, so that would just be hypocritical.  B) Where else?

Findings: Certainly no dearth of suitors.  I’ve met people that I have genuinely enjoyed conversation with but the chat began and ended at the bar.  I’ve met those who I have exchanged information with and secretly hoped I wouldn’t talk to again.  But then, it’s the ones that I actually feel connections with, or want to see again, that fuel all the questioning and confusion in the matter.

Where to? What comes next?
So the conversation is good, the attraction is there, numbers are exchanged, and follow-up communication occurs…now it’s smooth sailing, right? I wish.  Living in a city puts pressure on the situation.  You don’t walk the same campus, attend the same party or seminar, or cross paths unintentionally.  If I find a guy appealing, my concern is in getting to know him.  If I find him interesting, I don’t want the conversation to end.  My naive judgment likes to believe that upon college graduation, I said goodbye to the days when boys feign interest in a girl for a one-night stand, only to find another at the next frat party.   Age aside, maybe some people are never looking for commitment, or have an agenda that will never make sense, or be explained.  I guess I’ll chalk it up to a mis-connection.

People pretty much are who they are at their core, experiences define and bruise, but I don’t think they really change a person.   What’s wrong with me? Having had my heart broken once led me to believe that I’d never have that innocent, pureness of heart again.  Then, when I meet someone I feel a spark with, I’m reminded that I’m still the same silly, hopeful, perhaps blindly-so, girl I have always been and hopefully will continue to be.  Knowing that about myself? Maybe that’s half the battle… but it’s hard to tell much about a person from a few brief encounters.  What’s wrong with him? What’s his vice? What’s at his center?  I’d like to know, but maybe someone else is meant to figure it out.

One night, I was feeling adventurous and decided to set out to find a new drinking hole to see if there was any truth to my suspicion about bars.

I thought I found one unique establishment in SoHo.  The main floor had a Mediterranean-feel with hookahs lining the walls and Middle-Eastern tunes blasting through the speakers, which created a very ethnic vibe. After grazing arms with a few patrons, I assumed the clientele would be atypical from those found at my old stomping grounds (but I welcomed the change).  The basement floor featured the same hookahs and set-up, however, a familiar DJ booth and songs from American’s Top 40 List transformed the Middle Eastern restaurant into a hip-hop dancing venue.  Young men with yarmulkes shared a hookah and bobbed their heads to Jay-Z and Rihanna songs.  Meanwhile, my friends and I were gawking over the dance moves of an Andre 3000 look-alike, clad in a spiffy collared shirt and vest.  Two females who towered me in height, I think they must have been well over the six-foot mark, knew all the steps to Beyonce’s “Diva” video.  They weren’t the average sorority girls who had had one too many drinks, but rather more likely to have been celebrity back-up dancers.  Everyone knew the lyrics to each song and was shamelessly crooning line after line.

Ironically, bars and pop music are ubiquitous.  This bar was successful in attracting different types of people, due to the exotic menu and distinct environment.  However, regardless of the motivation for entering the bar, once inside it wasn’t the hookahs, the drink list, or the dance floor that compelled people to stay, but rather the trendy music.

So, a bar is a bar is a bar.  Not that there’s anything wrong with that!

I enjoy a good hearty laugh and am a firm believer that a sense of humor is one of the most redeeming qualities in a person, but I’m not one of those “easy-laughers.”  I’d like to think my sense of humor is pretty high-brow.  Example: I seldom giggle after hearing a potty-joke, nor after hearing cheesy, over-done bits, though I do enjoy witty sarcasm and intellectual comedy.  Those who can laugh at the drop of a hat, however, are certainly endearing and at times, I wish I were one of those people.  Chuckling tendencies aside, my curiosity was sparked when I stumbled upon this comedy show on FreeNYC.net.  “How New York,” I thought.  Would the comedian haggle the audience? Would the café be packed with rowdy drunk men? Or serenely occupied by indie hipsters? Only one way to find out!

I decided to scope out the café a little early with a friend to see if, like most things in New York, it was the type of activity that draws a large crowd, lots of waiting, and scrambling to find a seat.  Quite the opposite!  We actually walked by the place several times before settling inside because the dearth of people inside the café made me a little uneasy—it’s still New York after all.

My decision to attend a comedy show might have been swayed by a bribe of free buns (and they were delicious!) and I was a pleasantly surprised when they were presented to me upon entrance into the café.  After entering the café, we were instinctively approached by a twenty-something lean male, with a zip-lock bag full of what looked like cinnamon muffins.   He confirmed we were in the right place and before I knew it, I had a cinnamon “muffin” in hand and was being told that while the show was actually listed online as “free,” there was a one-drink minimum and not one, but five comedians to entertain us for the night.   Hey, what’s a couple bucks in exchange for a new adventure & a tasty treat?

Downstairs was an intimate semi-circle set up with about 25-30 people ranging in age from 22 to 60.  Dim-lighting set the perfect mood for watching the screen which projected 80s Jane Fonda-esque aerobics films featuring yet another type of bun.  Clever, huh? Buns of steel & cinnamon buns; I like it. The films intended to create some levity if things were getting stiff onstage, and if anything made for a more bizarre evening.  Meanwhile, our host for the night was awkwardly adorable and I imagine, a starving comedian? (Do they have those?) In any case, he endearingly shared his own sex jokes with us (us being 30 strangers…and his parents, no lie!).

Some jokes were hilarious, others were more painful and trying.  One comedian scratched his head, apologized for his lack of preparation and glanced at his cheat sheet to guide his jokes.  He stared at us and admitted that we were such good looking, intimidating audience, he felt like he was on a date with a pretty woman and didn’t know where he stood! Above all, Kumail Nanjiani, who has been on shows like SNL and Jimmy Kimmel Live kept the audience roaring with laughter and I wanted him to stay on the stage longer.  More ‘Buns & Puns’ please!