UP ABOVE MY HEAD

I wake up to the sounds of traffic, landing airplanes, chirping birds, car horns, sirens, and the muffled voices of children who are on their way to school. Sometimes I can hear the automated voices of Metro buses announcing stop locations, the hum of lawn mowers, jackhammers, or the rumbling of garbage trucks. 

It's all coming from outside. 

It's all a part of city living. It's expected. 

It's a part of the territory. 

Many times, however, it's quiet, and those times are like unexpected gifts. 

My sensibilities, however, dictate that I really should abandon the city and live in some remote, pastoral, rural area. 

I often wonder if I would if I had the necessary cash to acquire a country home. 

I like DC, though. I do. 

I like Bellevue, mostly for it's proximity to every major highway, airports, and shopping. It's also not very far from the house where I grew up. 

My initial decision to live here was based on avoiding rush hour traffic, and being able to walk to work. 

My decision to stay has been challenged often, but obviously never changed. 

There have been noisy times, but they're always temporary. The noise above has always been a random police helicopter, re-routed incoming flights to Washington-Reagan, fireworks, thunder, or sleet. It always passes. 

Neighbors overhead present a different challenge.

It's been several years since there was a tenant in the condo upstairs. It's been vacant much longer than not, and I've grown accustomed to the relative peace. 

I now have new neighbors, and as expected, with new neighbors comes noise. 

It should be regarded with as much nonchalance as the outdoor sounds of which one has little control, but it isn't. 
The notion is that great consideration should automatically rule and reign when one does not live alone. 

No one, however is going to tiptoe around in their own home like a frightened rabbit. Every now and then, you're going to drop or slam something, or need to move quickly. Something may fall. There are things one must do while at home and some of it requires energy and effort. 

The new sounds have introduced ear intrusions that greatly eclipse the outside sounds in volume and tolerance level. There are bricks, mortar and glass that diffuse the outside noise. There's apparently nothing protecting me from the noise upstairs. 

There are several loose floorboards-- and children. The combination of creaking, crunching, crying, running, squishing, stomping, jumping and banging is alive, abusive and without harmony. It's an organism. It seems to be tangible. The sounds aren't just at the source. They invade my space like a runaway train. I physically sense them. I may as well be making them myself! They are present...in my face...an unwelcome part of my days and nights. The sounds are not just up there, they're in here. I mean, really IN here...in glorious surround sound. It's like being randomly punched, kicked, or pushed around by something you can't see. The noise travels across the ceiling and down the walls like a vine in a horror movie. It seems that, at any time, something or someone is going to come crashing through the ceiling. It is obvious that there isn't an ounce of insulation between the floors, just lots and lots of old wood...and loose nails...that needs glue...lots and lots of glue.

I hate complaining about anything as much as I hate confrontation. Something has to be done about the flooring above, though. I'm listening to the creaking, squeaking, snapping, thuds, thumps, bangs, bumps, and crunching, combined with the sounds of a riding mower, right now as I type. It's the supposed helplessness that makes you want to cry. 

What do you say? "Stop walking, running, moving, and being!" That would be highly inappropriate. 

What do you do? 

Bang on the ceiling with a broom handle? 

Run upstairs and pound on your neighbor's door? 

Have a fit?  

Of course not. 

The new neighbors are just living. They're not on a mission to drive me crazy. They're not deliberately being inconsiderate jerks. They're just living. There is that one floorboard I wish they'd avoid, though...or drive several screws or nails into it.

Today is yet another day when I wish I were independently wealthy. (I must get on that.) 

Everyone would have a single family home...or at least, I'd pay to have the floor boards secured, install a floating floor, insulation, or plush carpet, or state of the art soundproofing, and then pay to have them switch units with the lady downstairs who lives alone--she's as quiet as a feather.
It's an old building, so I'm sure that some amount of noise is an issue for everyone in the community who has someone living above them. How are other neighbors coping? 

A few nights ago, I turned on my voice memo on my phone to capture the noise. I let it run all night as I slept. I managed to obtain lots of auditory proof of a definite problem, in case I do decide to share it with the condo association. 

I also managed to obtain proof that I probably need to participate in a sleep study. Guess I won't be sharing that particular memo, after all...lol...

Maybe I should be less concerned about the noise upstairs and more concerned about my labored, intermittent breathing. Yep. It's time to lighten up. Considering all of the ills in the world, if a little noise (or a lot) is my biggest problem, I'm doing okay.

How do you handle those things about which you can, presently, do little or nothing other than acknowledge their existence? 

Changing your attitude is a good start. 

I could move, or ask my neighbors to stop moving. Neither of those options is reasonable. 

I could have a tantrum. 

Just go into the hallway and scream at the top of my lungs about all of the problems in the building. That would surely prompt someone to phone the authorities. A padded cell might provide just the quiet I adore, but a straightjacket would be a definite bummer. 

One always has choices. Being frustrated or angry, although justifiable, won't help either. The thought that there is nothing you can do about something that impacts you every single day, is troubling in and of itself, without making things worse by reacting badly. 

Is the annoyance you face just one more thing to send you over the edge, or one more thing to motivate you to make some changes to improve your own lot? 

Do you have to be where you are, or do you choose to be? If it's a choice--if you're determined to stay--what's a part of the territory with which you need to find creative ways to cope? 

Okay. perhaps you didn't start the problem. Perhaps you shouldn't have to deal with it. Perhaps you do resent that you're faced with finding solutions to a situation you didn't create--solutions that may be a bit uncomfortable, expensive, inconvenient, or require change, but feeling resentful and remaining frustrated won't make things better. 

Only you can alter how you feel about life's unexpected lemons.
If you can do something about a thing, go ahead. Whether that means, moving, talking a walk, donning earplugs, listening to ambient sounds, praying, singing, meditating, writing, or confronting, do it. 

Make lemonade every chance you get.