Originally published on August 10th, 2016, at SharondaWoodfin.net.
Edited and republished at Sharonda.net on March 10th, 2017.
We live on the third floor and our elevator is broken. That might not be such a big deal, except that the stairway has no ventilation; I walk the dog every 3.5 waking hours; I carry her up and down the stairs; and gravity just doesn’t like me hefting my bulk own upward, never mind my bulk plus 10.
(Did I mention that one of our neighbors has major back issues?
Yeah. I suspect she’s in for the day.
But back to me:)
I live on the third floor. That was my wife’s doing.
I thought I would have been more comfortable living on the second floor of this three-story building, in which the first level is nearly all garages, minus a couple of townhomes out on the building’s face.
I thought I’d be more comfortable on the second floor, because there, I wouldn’t have to worry about disturbing the neighbors below me. I wouldn’t have to worry about walking too loud, because there would be no one below me to hear.
But my wife wanted to be on the top floor. Her concern was the opposite of mine: She didn’t want to have to listen to people above her, and she was willing to pay more for the privilege of not hearing.
My wife got her way (because of course she did; this very conflict serves as proof that she’s more ambitious than I am), and it has been to my benefit. I don’t hear people above us — ‘though, sometimes, it certainly sounds like someone is up there, stomping around on the roof — and I don’t worry nearly as much as I thought I would about walking too loudly for the downstairs neighbor’s comfort. I can see things that I might not be able to glimpse from even one floor down. And we catch nice breezes up here, too; blowing in through the windows in the master bedroom, sweeping down the hallway, then gently exiting through the balcony door.
It’s good to be on top, y’all! It really, really is!
…except for when your elevator is broken.
Then you realize that the higher you live, the farther you have to climb just to get back home.
And you wonder at the notion that something as mundane as a transportation glitch can be the catalyst for understanding that maybe your self-esteem was never as high as you thought it was, and for seeing that your spouse has literally lifted you up.
Thanks, Linda! I appreciate you every day, but maybe today more than most!
And I’m sure it’s a day that I’ll make it through, trudging up and down multiple flights with 10 pounds of canine under my left arm; climbing my way back to our life together, where it’s clean, and safe, and high, and home.