Come on, feel the noise...

Like many New Yorkers, I live in a high-rise building with dozens upon dozens of neighbors.

Some are quite friendly and bid me a cheery "Hello" when we meet in the compactor room to dispose of our empty milk cartons and outdated Newsweeks. Others are grumpy and look right through me while we wait, wordlessly, for the elevator to arrive at our floor.

And still others are just plain... loud.

Let me explain. Last Tuesday - at 10:30 pm, to be precise - I decided to turn in for the night. I read a chapter of Emily Giffin's Something Borrowed, slathered on some hand cream and turned off the light.

And that's when I heard it: One of my neighbors, a young man it would seem, was singing "Come on, Eileen," at the top of his lungs, out of his bedroom window.

At first I thought, "Great song!" followed by, "What ever happened to those '80s one-hit wonders, Dexy and the Midnight Runners?" And then I heard the song again. And again. And again.

And - you guessed it - yet again.

By the 10th rendition of "Come on, Eileen," it was 10:47pm and I was feeling a lot less neighborly. "What's WRONG with that guy?" I wondered. "Come On, Eileen" is a fine song -- zippy, with a strong, bouncy beat you can really groove to -- but how many times can a person possibly sing it?

Many, apparently. My neighbor kept belting it out, with great feeling and gusto, for the next 17 and a half minutes.

At 11:05pm, I'd had it up to here with "Come On, Eileen," as well as with my songbird of a neighbor. I decided to take matters into my own hands.

I threw on a pair of sweatpants and headed downstairs for a chat with Jorge, the night concierge.

"Has anyone complained about 'Come On, Eileen?'" I asked him. Jorge looked at me blankly. Clearly, I was the only one in the entire building who had noticed -- or complained -- about the singing. This was a battle I'd have to fight on my own. I thanked Jorge, and went back upstairs.

Miraculously, by the time I re-entered my apartment, the singing had stopped. The sound of silence echoed throughout my bedroom. What a relief.

And then it hit me: Some things in life -- like death, taxes and multiple renditions of "Come On, Eileen" -- are beyond our control. Sure, you can complain to Jorge (or to the grim reaper, or to the IRS) about whatever it is that's bothering you. But sometimes - and, clearly, this was one of these times -there is nothing you can do, except to accept the inevitable... and cover your ears.

Now, you're surely thinking, What kind of defeatist attitude is that for a life coach? There must be something that can be done about noisy neighbors (and death, and taxes).

Well, yes and no.

I could have gone floor to floor, searching for the culprit. Or I could have demanded that Jorge seek out the putzy Pavarotti and plug his pipes, pronto.

But I didn't. Instead, I figured that the singing would stop soon enough, and that would be that.

The thing is, ceding control can, at times, feel awfully good. After all, it's exhausting to take responsibility for each and every thing that crosses your path - whether it's an annoying neighbor, a meddling mother-in-law, a lousy restaurant meal or a run in your pantyhose.

Sometimes, something's gotta give.

When that happens, the best solution is often the simplest: Assess the situation. Take a deep breath and do whatever you need to do, in order to feel authentic and comfortable in your own skin.

The bottom line? Cover your ears, sing along, or change the station. The choice is yours.

Enjoy your summer - and keep cool (and quiet)!

All the best,

Melissa Roske
Life and Personal Coach for Women
Wheels in Motion Coaching

646-736-8502

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