I will romanticize anything if you let me. Pile me in a heap on the sidewalk and I can excavate some shard of beauty. It may take time but it will come. This might be appealing, but our strength often mirrors our weakness. Dual sides of one coin. What lifts you up can take you down.
So when I watch tiny, vividly human moments unfold around me in New York, impossible to escape in the pulsing togetherness that shades this city, and my breath catches and heart skips from witnessing the miracle of people looking out for other people, I wonder if each exchange is as lovely as I think, or if rose-colored glasses have finally obscured my sight.
A block from our place, I heard a voice shout Do you need a light? and without slowing down, I glanced up. Nah, I’ve got it, a woman yelled back, digging deep into her bag from the stoop on my right. She was yelling in the direction of the intersection, responding to the driver of a pickup truck at a red light. He was waiting for green, saw her struggle, and offered to help.
I went to the co-op. Leafy greens, dried apricots. Naval oranges on sale. Walnuts, ginger dressing, sprouted grains. My basket filled more than planned. When it was time to pay, the line was long and I stood at the end. The man ahead of me turned around. You can put your basket here, he offered, gesturing towards his cart. He was one of those people who radiates enthusiasm. Oh! I’m okay, I responded. It’s not heavy. We paused. He continued, Please, feel free, while you wait.
Entering the subway, I stopped traffic. The machine beeped each time I swiped my card. Swipe again at this turnstile. Swipe again. I followed directions but the beeping continued, and the line behind me grew. Finally, a stranger reached past me, her arm grazing my abdomen. She pushed her card into the machine and waved me through. Her two-dollars-and-seventy-five-cents put me on a train and kept us all moving, humming, gliding through New York.
On Thursday night John and I rode the Q from downtown Manhattan to Ditmas Park. When we reached Brooklyn our train stopped. The doors opened and cops marched up and down the platform. Over the loudspeaker, a voice: We are being held at the station. Eyes flitted up then went back down. Four cops entered our car. Their presence loomed. They approached a man who was destabilized but harmless, putting on rubber gloves and offering him a trip to the hospital. They said he had to leave. All eyes were up now. The man got up slowly as the entire car watched. But looking around at those eyes—lifted, attentive—I only saw concern. The desire for respect and care.
Five years ago, I knew exactly why I went to New York. A year later, I knew why I did not want to leave. Three years ago, I could tell you why we were heading back. And two years ago, apartment lease in hand, we put everything on hold.
To tell you the truth my old reasons for being in this city are gone. They didn’t survive. Didn’t stand a chance.
So it would be hard to tell you precisely why I am in New York right now. I talked about it for more than a decade and here we are. I am following the arrow—the people, culture, and art I love—but don’t know what’s at the end of the maze.
I can only assume this city has something to tell me. That there’s a message buried amidst the chaos. A shard of beauty worth excavating from this human sea, its teeming sidewalks. Some truth that isn’t sentimental.
The risk of New York feels familiar. You must find what lifts you up before it takes you down. Ruin runs parallel to shine. So my eyes are open, and my feet are moving. I’ll try to hear what it has to say.
Between you and me—
Live from New York… it’s Saturday morning! I’ve been waiting to say that.
In an interview, when asked where she lives, I once heard Dolly Parton say “I’m like Santa Claus! Everywhere and nowhere at the same time.” That’s a little how I’m feeling at the moment, since John seems to suddenly be in a different city every week for music, and I am in New York, but still in the South sometimes, too.
For better or worse, I am trying on a dream we’ve cultivated for years. What will come of it? Only time will tell. When I’m overwhelmed by the moving pieces life is throwing towards us, and feeling uncertain, John likes to say, “You’ve caught the dragon by its tail and now you don’t know what to do with it. What are you going to do with it?!”
At the moment, I am holding on for dear life.
Our very-chaotic-chapter continues, though currently it is tilting more towards the positive than it was for a bit leading into Spring. Whew.
Wednesday was my birthday! I love birthdays, both mine and other people’s, so we played hooky and visited some favorite bookstores in New York, where, with a gift card from my bestie, I obtained Jessica Winter’s The Fourth Child, Jessica Dore’s Tarot for Change, and Mary Oliver’s Upstream. I bought bodega flowers and spent too much on cute pants. Another bestie got me a smoothie and delivered a gift, which Herbie, who is obsessed with presents, helped me open. We ended the night with a meal I can only describe as very French, which began with oysters and ended with yellow cake that would make my grandmother proud.
Hope your spring is looking bright. I have a hunch that all of us, in some way, are stepping into a new chapter. Is that what you’re feeling? I’d love to hear. Till next time—take care out there.
The audio version of my last essay, which explored the one thing that helped me during a stressful period, is available on Spotify, Apple, Substack, or wherever you listen to podcasts.
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