A hundred times I have thought:
New York is a catastrophe,
and fifty times:
It is a beautiful catastrophe.
-Le Corbusier, incised in the pavement of Battery Park City's esplanade.
What's to say about yet another blow to the heart of the city? At least ten people dead and 30-odd injured, including losing limbs, at this hour in a collision between one of the Staten Island Ferries and a pier at St. George's Terminal. Those poor people: going home on a regular day and all of a sudden you're aboard the Titantic on the deck the iceberg's coming through.
Once again I was lucky that none of my loved ones were injured, though Julian could easily have been on the ferry, and I'm glad it didn't happen during rush hour or it would have been much worse, though I guess the boat was loaded to capacity. Sadly, what will probably come out of this is some massive lawsuits against the city, and the cost of a new ferry, or some major repairs to this one, like we can afford any of that. It's going to make commuting to Staten Island a mess for while, probably, too. When we got the news at work, Betsy, next to me, said "When is this going to stop?" and you can tell we're all still jumpy from the way we react to things like this.
I just got done talking to Kath, who was angsting already, and admitted that I'm a little numb now to the smaller catastrophes like this, but suspect it'll catch up to me later. I also admitted that I've caught myself being more fearful than I was before, meaning I find myself imagining all the things that can go wrong when I step out the door: I could fall down the stairs again, be hit by a truck, pushed onto the subway tracks, collide with a bike messenger. It's not like it's stopping me from going out and living my life, but it's always there, in my awareness, the impermanence of life, or "the bad-luck lottery," as Kath calls it. I don't really like calling it a lottery, though I can't really say why. I guess I don't see life as a gamble, but as a gift. Sometimes gifts get broken.
I must be getting old. I'm worrying more about mine getting broken. But dammit! It's my favorite present, and it's one of a kind and invaluable and irreplaceable except by God's grace. And I guess I wouldn't be 20 and immortal ever again for that reason.
So, shit, riding the freakin' ferry home and ten people will never make that commute again, and a few others will make it minus one of their limbs. There's something to put your rush hour into perspective.
Comments