The Human Machine
I like New York City, I like it a lot. My wife and I lived there for a while, my daughter was born at NYU, and five years ago, doctors and nurses at Mt. Sinai West hospital saved my life. Whenever I visit the city now, I feel completely at home the second I hit streets.
I have always been an urbanite. I like cities. The thing about New York is, the city has a way to do everything: There is a way to walk the streets, there is a way to shop, there is a way to sit in traffic. It doesn't change for you - you need to adapt to it. Just like any city, it’s far from perfect. But despite all it’s issues, there is a wonderful rhythm to the place. It’s like a huge human machine, pulsing and thinking and spinning. Every inch of manhattan is put to use by people for people, and (for the most part) put to use well.
Walking 20 or 30 blocks in Manhattan is nothing. People do it at the drop of a hat, and in almost any weather. It's faster than driving and easier than the subway, and huge crowds of people are capable of flowing past obstacles and obstructions without (seemingly) getting upset. In many ways walking is the great equalizer: millionaire hedge fund king, over-tired healthcare worker, or guy who just lost his pants in the park, they all have to walk, and they all do it together. Despite its reputation, I never saw New York as a cruel place filled with cruel people; quite the opposite in fact. Last week, as I flowed along with the pedestrian crowd down 5th Ave, I witnessed at least five acts of random kindness: a delivery man dropped his glove and passing woman in a business suit broke stride to retrieve it for him, a street vendor ran into traffic to help a tourist, a man with a suitcase stopped to pickup piece of trash in his path, and deposited it into the nearest garbage can. If you can see past the human deluge, acts like these happen quietly just below the surface.
When I was sick and things got bad, I recall being amazed at how total strangers in such a big city gave a shit about me and my family. Not just the nurses, who stayed overnight for days to titrate me off of vasopressors, but also regular people, like the dude who ran the greek diner where my wife would stare into her coffee every morning summoning the strength to spend another day watching a machine force air into my comatose body. You would expect a place that big to be a sea of indifference, but that wasn't my experience at all.
I can only surmise that part of being a new yorker is priming your emotional state as part of your morning ritual. It's a wonderfully stoic habit. You anticipate and accept that today things will be difficult, and people will get in your way, and plans will go a little sideways. The result is you don't suffer as much when they actually happen. They say when shit doesn't go your way, you can be injured twice, once when it happens and a second time when you choose to get mad about it. This kind of priming is probably what allows for those small moments of human decency amid what seems like chaos. It's a cool psychology and it reminds me of what normal people are capable of. Depending on your point of view New York City can be a shining beacon or terrifying horror show; yet people manage to remain human.
I’m thinking about this because the mission at Sparrow is to use technology to help millions of people. The idea behind the solution is kinda nuts because it involves training the system on millions of heart sounds. Many of those sounds are donated by normal people. People who care, people who have the capacity to give a small piece of themselves for a greater good - when they do, they literally become part of the solution. In the coming weeks we are shifting this up into the next gear. At the core of it, however, remains the idea that people fundamentally care, that with all the distractions and problems and fear, we are all still human and are ultimately in service of that fact and in service to each other. I look forward to it.
