This Suburban Life

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Tuesday was my last NYC day of work and my last night with the family ( α + α²). We had lots of laughter because I tried to explain them the very French concept of “motocrotte” which I translated “poop bike” and we all peed ourselves. We said it would be α‘s ideal job when we are all grown ups. α² will be an earth pulse scientist. 

I slept 4 hours and took the Amtrak train to Boston, Massachusetts where the HQ of my company is. Being on the Amtrak is by far one of my favorite things in life, across all the categories of cool stuff to do. It is my first time in New England. The office is super remote in the wooded suburb. I am meeting people I have been virtually working with for the last 2 years without even guessing a sense of what they look like beyond Skype. I have the same running gag when I meet each of them: “Oh my God! You have legs!”

The spirit of New England is very similar to Canada, for its proximity with nature, its general peacefulness and the colonial style wooden houses. It feels that nothing bad can happen here.

I stay at a posh hotel of the centre of Boston with ridiculous roof terrace, room balcony and 2 queen size beds. Fuck yeah!  I enjoy this occasional luxury like a kid, because I live it like a happy accident and I make the most of it while it passes by.

At the end of my first work day, I didn’t know how to find my way back to the town centre and I got pissed at this anti public transportation culture. I was told about a bus running from right outside the office but I could never find a bus stop (of course I couldn’t. I saw the “bus stop” the day after and it was a sign on an electric pillar). So I walked to the train station with my luggage along the main road, with lots of traffic and huge vehicles, and I kept reminding myself to stop getting stuck in the middle of nowhere. It is a usual thing along my trips and it challenges my travel creativity.

As I was walking, I really started getting a sense of this so typical American suburban life flair, the one that α tried to explain me years ago and that makes her love “Edward Scissorhands” that much.  What would my perspectives on life be if this was my regular journey to work? I get my life appetite and my violent ups and downs from the turmoil of the metropolis. The metropolis makes me truly happy, but this suburban life equally fascinates me. A Wisteria Lane taste. Who knows what extraordinary and/or dramatic life paths evolve behind the closed doors of the pastel colonial houses?

When I got at the station after my meditative walk, its bucolic style transported me into a different era where I was making home-made jams and wearing vintage-to-be dresses which would then be the latest design. An adorable trolley soon arrived. We went through forests, passed lakes. It pacified my soul from all the recent NYC bouncing and electric shocks.

I’m now sitting in the middle of the night in front of my bay window, facing Boston lit towers. I love too much the idea of writing chronicles alone in hotel rooms. That could become a life style. Even a life goal.

Tomorrow night I’m taking the train back to my New York for an ultimate weekend.

I am aiming to wake up in 5 hours to watch the sunrise from the roof terrace and do the mermaid in the pool. Will I make it?
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