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Monthly Archives: February 2012

Some basic rules of weapons training are to make the weapon an extension of yourself, and know where it is and what it’s doing at all times. This sort of training should be mandatory for anybody navigating New York City.

I have two modes of carrying my bag. For subway navigation, I hold it at my side, so it takes up the minimum amount of radial space, and so I can quickly move it in front of or behind me when the available corridors of motion start to constrict.

Once I’m at street level, if the foot traffic isn’t two dense, it goes over my shoulder, which is comfortable, but requires being aware that my shoulder is now extruding eight inches farther behind me and three or four inches farther to my right. This may seem a small amount, but navigation in the commercial districts of Manhattan during the day is often a matter of inches. A sudden twist of my torso could knock a fellow commuter to the ground, so I have to account for this extended space consumption when calculating safe turns and passages.

Most people fail to expand their kinetic awareness when encumbered with even their daily baggage. This is most often demonstrated by the standing spin, wherein a person with a bag of some kind is talking to someone, then suddenly needs to look in another direction, so they do a full turn and manage to block an entire sidewalk, often hitting a passerby with their bag in the process. The spinner simply doesn’t understand that they are consuming the space outside their body.

You are what carry.

The principles of commuting comprise an art form like any other. They are general guides to an ongoing process, applicable to the immediate situation as well as the practice as a whole, and to the shaping of a life’s work in the form.

The principle of least effort is the primary primary principle, guiding the commuter to be like water, to be still when possible, and flow quickly and easily around all obstacles when necessary.

The secondary principles are derived from the primary: the principle of shortest path and the principle of minimal friction. Shortest path merely merely directs the commuter to cut all corners and seek the straightest road. Minimal friction dictates avoiding confrontation and collision, and strive to appear as though nothing is in one’s way.

In practicing these principles, the commute shortens and eases. Those of the higher ranks will barely seem to travel. He who truly masters of the art of commuting will not commute at all. Or perhaps, he shall own a helicopter.

It’s not hard to forget that my morning tends to begin after much of the workforce has already taken its first break. The crush of the 9 to 5 office workers that comprises rush hour comes after the slower, more staggered commutes of the people who provide the maintain the infrastructure and provide the services that support the businesses full of people who shuffle data and imaginary money.

The city that never sleeps stirs groggily from its half-conscious night dreaming at around five in the morning, downs its coffee, and is hard at work by 8:30. The morning that I and most people with my kind of job deal with is a rushed invasion of already bustling commercial space that most of us unconsciously assume just magically appears at 8:45.

Commuting at seven to a 9 to 5 job is a calmer experience. Because the noise hasn’t hit its stride, the engines revving and gates screeching seem starker, and more in focus against the quiet. Because the sidewalk population is still far below critical density, commuters walk calmly, and seem possessed of purpose and determination instead of fear and calculation. The people awake and serving coffee seem happier than anybody drinking it. I expect this is partly because it takes a certain kind of person to wake up at sunrise, and partly because that’s better for your body clock anyway. Once, long ago, I made a point of having a couple hours to myself before going to work, and enjoyed my week days much more than I do now. But my New York is a city of the night, because a country boy loves the city for its lights and shadows, not its honest face.