Inevitably when I meet somebody new and the conversation turns to our jobs, the question that is always asked when they find out my job history is “Do you miss Wall Street?” In actuality, I consider that to be a three-part question.
First part – do I miss the Wall Street money? The short answer is “yes – tremendously”. Why I went from a six-figure salary to that of a public school teacher is something that most people can’t understand. And, truthfully, there are days when I don’t understand it either. Especially on the days when the college tuition payments are due. Or the property tax bill. Or the dance school tuition.
Which leads to question number two – do I miss the Wall Street work? Truthfully, no. Absolutely not. By the time my Wall Street career wound to a close, it was like sitting up with a terminally ill patient just waiting for the final breath. I had pretty much been reduced to doing everyone else’s bullshit work while the company slowly dismantled the division. There were days when I felt like I was stealing my large salary. The work I do now is just so much more meaningful and satisfying. If only jobs like this paid like the job I left!
The final part of the question is – do I miss Wall Street, the place? Or more accurately, do I miss working in New York City. Undoubtedly, the answer is “yes.” I don’t miss commuting, which completely sucks. But I do miss the city. Which is why any time we have some time off, I make an excuse to head in.
Usually, I plan a meeting for my small, barely profitable company. But the reality is that I go in because I love the city and I can’t think of a better way to spend an afternoon than wandering alone throughout the streets and avenues.
I love the pace of the city – it never stops. Red lights are just mere pauses in the flow of people and traffic. Pedestrians weave in and out like the cars at a NASCAR race, with everyone hustling to get somewhere.
I love the sound of the city. The buses and trucks, the snippets of conversation in just about any language you can imagine, the construction sites and the tourist groups. The street vendors. It becomes a white noise that inspire me like no other.
Then there's the people. People from all over. People delivering packages. People selling food. Bicyclists trying to avoid getting killed by trucks. Some stranger trying to sell me a gold chain - "real gold. 14 carat" (and don't ask from where.) And the pretty girls - oh my. New York is like a walking, talking fashion show every day.
But what I love most about the city is the anonymity of it. Everywhere you look people surround you but almost everyone keeps to themselves. Walking down the street with my suit jacket on and my briefcase under my arm, I could be a stock broker heading to a client meeting, a doctor leaving the hospital, a teacher or Batman, for that matter. Nobody seems to notice or care. Right now, I find myself sitting in a public space beside Grand Central Terminal. I could be a lawyer working on a brief, or a reporter working on a story, or Ernest Hemingway. And not a soul has stopped by or even looked at me.
In Edison, no matter where I go, I am defined as somebody. Mr. Campione, the teacher. Coach Jerry, the baseball coach. The union rep. The dancer’s father. But in the city, I’m anybody. And nobody.
Do I miss Wall Street? Not really, but I do miss the city. The fast pace, gritty, grimy city. A city of millions of anonymous souls. That I miss . . .very much.
