Life in the Small

When you start seeing more empty jars of Stridex and Corona Light collect in the shared recycling bin than pricey bottles of red wine, you know it's time to move out.

Confession #7: I was the one who called the cops shortly after 1 am last Saturday.

The neighbors were playing loud music and singing along. Loudly. And they were drunk. And several couples were having the drunken hook-up conversation in our shared hallway, steps from my door. Did I say they were loud? I couldn't sleep. Granted I was happily updating my wish list on Amazon but still. I couldn't sleep. I called my husband in Dubai. I told him I was going to call the cops. He was rushing into a meeting, at ten in the morning his time (they work on Sundays in Dubai,) so hurriedly said, "you should honey." So I did. I called the cops on a newly married couple who had friends over for a Saturday night party.

I remember such a party that we hosted as newlyweds in September 2000. We played loud music. Really loud music. My husband showed unspeakable movies on the television "as background" to the loud music we were playing. I was amazed that we were able to fit more than fifty people into our tiny one bedroom. People had hook-up conversations in the hallways. They invaded the rooftop and released the balloons I had gotten for my birthday. We were drunk; very drunk but had the time of our lives that night. The clean up next day required more than one trip to the shared recycling bin.

So much has changed in seven years, hasn't it? Does it for everyone? Raising a five year-old, I feel like I have been able to maintain my childhood perspective and therefore, am a better mother for it. So how come I can't maintain the perspective of a twentysomething? How come I can't tolerate a bunch of twenty-five year olds who are trying to have fun in the only way they know how to have fun?

One of the dictionary meanings of perspective is the ability to perceive things in their comparative importance. This is exactly the kind of perspective I seem to have lost in the last ten years. And this is exactly the kind of perspective I'll be chasing across the Atlantic and through the twisted, topsy-turvy streets of Istanbul.

As part of an insider compliment, a friend recently called what I write about "life in the small." Aha! That is exactly the kind of life I'm looking for. Comparatively speaking, small is the new big. Don't you think?