Living on the 10th Floor

Life Above the Fray

This is a space for me to write about things I am interested in. That’s why this particular post is entirely about how much I like living on the 10th floor of my apartment building. It never gets deeper than that; it never elevates to something higher than that. It's a 10th floor kind of blog post. Now might be a good time to do something more valuable with your time. Try this, or this, or especially this.

My wife’s and my first two apartments in NYC were both on the first floor of the building. Though they weren’t really too bad, I compare living on the first floor to living in a dungeon of a bleak and forgotten castle. Here, we lived with the mice and cockroaches. Here, pedestrians would look into our windows as they passed as if our living room was a carnival curiosity they had paid good money to gaze at. Here, sunlight was a myth that had been passed down from father to son through the centuries. We often heard about it, a majestic source of warm light that resembles our own ceiling light, but hanging from the sky instead of dangling from some loose wires. 

Then, as COVID dropped rent prices substantially, Leila and I moved to a new apartment. An apartment on the 10th floor. The first incredible thing about living on the 10th floor is the elevator ride to get there. Without walking up a single step, you enter through a magic door into a little room. Seconds later the room hums to life and the portal again opens. But this time, instead of the lobby, the outside world has transformed and you now find yourself in a hallway. A short walk to the door and you enter something special: home. It is the ultimate sanctuary in the midst of the busy city. 

Down on the street you battle through your day. You work to complete your goals and tasks amidst the crowded hustle of the city with all of its noises, attractions, ambitions, hopes, and dreams. But up here, all of that remains far below you. You have found a quiet place that has somehow broken free from the city. It has broken free from gravity itself. It exists atop the stress. There is no crunch time here. The productive labor of the day will not resume again until a new sortie to the underworld is attempted. No such battles exist in the land of clouds. Here, you make tea, read books, and watch TV from the cover of a blanket. Here, you sleep. 

If you were privileged enough to have grown up with a tree house, you will know just how enchanting a lofted New York City apartment can be. Climbing into a tree house that sits above your grandma’s woods is like climbing into a place where time no longer exists and imagination becomes so palpably dense it breaks in upon reality. Your ideas run outside the boundaries of reality, allowing for unhindered creativity. The possibilities of the future open up; you can see further from up here. 

Key to the magic of my 10th floor apartment is our largest window which looks down on 1st Avenue. Peering out onto the world below, you can now see all the little aggravations of life from the same perspective that the stars see the world’s strivings; they are joyfully insignificant. The more accurate perspective places things back in their proper place. The clear glass allows you to curiously look out while safely protecting you from an unceasing chasing after the wind. 

Yet, the window provides more than just an above perspective on the world. It also provides a view. Buildings become singular objects as the skyline is taken in as a singular whole and the city unifies itself into one character. There is the tram entertaining me with its tightrope walk. A bi-plane passes above. The elderly man, visible in the window across the street, exits his shower. So many beautiful and curious things to see. In the evening, I read on my bed while the lights of the surrounding buildings and bridges create my own personal starry night sky. 

Nature too, finally makes its presence known. The sunlight–no longer blocked by other buildings–provides the glass with a secret password that the wind has yet to learn. It enters our room to lay across our bed, warming it with bright orange. Birds fly by at equal altitude. They always travel in groups of 10-15, confirming that friends are easier to make when you are in the air. The river is visible if you peer through the surrounding buildings at just the right spot, and you suddenly remember that you live on an island still limited by the natural forces that continue to define it.

In such a place, prayers come naturally; they have less distance to travel. These are the joys of the 10th floor. Once rested, I will again jump down into the fray and zealously work to make a positive mark on the modern Babylon I live in. But, even as I leave for the elevator, I know I will soon return to this lofty peace. I like living up here.