I think of myself as different from other people, often reflected in the creative choices I make.

In the early 1970’s I built my first home in Carmel, California.

The master bedroom was a large open loft on the second floor of the house, just above the living room.  The black, freestanding fireplace and stovepipe chimney provided warmth in the winter but were hardly distinctive.  The custom-built bed was unusual, but a mattress is a mattress.  The one truly unique feature that I have never seen in another house, was a real fire pole running from the peak of the redwood ceiling down to the floor of the living room — a total of about twenty-five feet.

Did anyone actually use the pole?  You bet they did.  Almost everyone who visited the house, unless they were over seventy, gave it a try.  I piled bean-bags at the bottom, to cushion every fall.  My three young children couldn’t wait to arrive in Carmel to visit “our fire pole,” as they called it.

Of course, we established rules.

First, only one person at a time could use the fire pole.  You had to climb the open stairs up to the bedroom, then either slip through or climb over the railings to latch onto the pole.  The ride down was a lot quicker than the climb up.

Second, an adult had to be present at the bottom, preferably an adult big enough to spot the user.

Third, you had to be fully dressed and ride safely by holding on for dear life with both arms and legs – letting yourself fall slowly, not quickly.  No one was on their way to put out a real fire.

This morning, on the last day of 2018, I’ve been thinking about the screams of delight we all enjoyed, especially over the year-end holidays, riding down that pole.  And I thought, “Wouldn’t it be nice if each of us could think of every year as a ride down the fire pole?”

A ride down the fire pole was over in a matter of a few seconds.  Do the three hundred and sixty-five days in a year flash by more slowly?  Just like a ride down the fire pole, you can never be sure how each year will end.  And isn’t the purpose of each trip, on the fire pole and the year, to have a good time?

I recently sold my Carmel house. Other children will now have the opportunity to slide down the pole, just like my children, and now my grandchildren, taking their places on the fire pole of life.

For the New Year I wish you a safe ride.

I did say that “almost everyone” used the fire pole. In more than forty years I did not try the fire pole even once.

I have no regrets. But starting at midnight tonight I plan to lock my arms and legs around 2019, and fully enjoy every moment of another wild ride.

Alan

I’m on vacation, living in the moment, as I have often advocated.

I wish everyone a happy holiday season, and I’ll be back on January 2nd with a blog for the New Year.

Love to all.

Alan

Last Saturday evening I was seated in the third row center at a Broadway play, “The Band’s Visit.”  Ten minutes before curtain I was catching up on the news, courtesy of my iPhone, when I felt someone push my right elbow into my side and forcefully take sole possession of our mutual armrest.

Out of my peripheral vision, I noticed a woman had invaded my space.

I have attended hundreds of plays, but I have never discussed this situation with anyone.  Maybe I’m unusually sensitive to the art of sharing a theater armrest, which, after all, is only designed for one arm.  My wife typically sits to my left, so that side is easy.  We hold hands, usually on her lap or mine.  But occasionally, there is a problem with the stranger sitting on my right.

Before the show begins they always tell you to turn off your cell phone, but there are never any instructions on how to share your armrest.   I suppose the applicable etiquette comes under the heading of “Invisible Rules” which I wrote about in my book People Tools. Everyone knows the rule but no one talks about it.

It seems to me that there are only two possible systems.  Either you take turns, without talking about it, or the more aggressive person seizes sole possession.  That seemed to be the case here.

I prefer to avoid confrontations, but I will also defend my personal space from invasion when I feel it is necessary.  In this situation I ignored the intrusion.  Just before the show began the woman sitting to my right said, “You hit me with your elbow.”

“What?”

Louder.  “You hit me with your elbow.”

I didn’t hit her with anything, but it was easier to simply smile and say, “I’m sorry.”

I also took advantage of the opportunity to reclaim possession of the armrest.

The play was well performed, but I remained distracted.  I began to worry that after the show this woman might use her cellphone to take my photo, then circulate it on the internet with some sort of false allegation that I elbowed her.  That thought bothered me for ninety minutes, until the play ended.

While I would normally have exited to my right, after the curtain call my wife and I promptly departed to our left.

That’s where the matter ended, as far as I know.

But I wonder if this was an isolated incident. Are we all becoming more protective of our personal space, especially with strangers, as a way to carve out a zone of safety in what appears to be an increasingly contentious, neighbor against neighbor, world?  To put it another way, is there enough space for all of us?

Alan