When my Darling Beloved assembled an amazing itinerary for a four-night stay in New York City for our youngest’s spring break, I expected a few of its features:
Spending quality time away from work on a family adventure. Six Broadway shows in four days. Colder temperatures than I was used to in Atlanta this early spring. Lots of people.
What I didn’t expect was taking my Saturday morning walk in Central Park. And loving it.
To say I am a creature of habit is an understatement. I am not a slave to my weekly routine as much a soothed by it. Saturday mornings are for writing and walking, two ways I find restoration and reinvigoration after a busy week. I observe this weekend ritual whether I’m at home in Lilburn or in the Big Apple. I will get my steps in one way or another.
Speaking of steps, you will get them all in on a New York City vacation. We stayed within a few blocks of Times Square and the theater district for the sake of those six shows. I will spare you my novice reviews except to say they were all amazing. (To answer your inevitable question, we saw, in this order, Lion King, Cats: The Jellicle Ball, Death Becomes Her, Maybe Happy Ending, Oh Mary!, and Little Shop of Horrors.)
As much as I enjoyed the uplift of musical theater, walking in Central Park profoundly boosted my mood. Maybe it was because I wasn’t expecting it, but when I walked the 23 blocks (just over a mile) from the Archer Hotel on West 38th, I was transported from a concrete terrain of scowling tourists bickering over where to get overpriced pastries and coffee to a pastoral paradise of smiling locals soaking up sunshine under budding trees and amid fountains, ponds, rolling hills and such a wide array of activity I could scarcely take it all in.
And so many dogs.
I hadn’t given our Winston and Archie a second thought since leaving them with Mrs. Terie before heading to the airport on Wednesday, but seeing the pet owners out frolicking with their pooches suddenly made me want to have my usual walking companion, Archie, with me. (Winston doesn’t do walking. He really doesn’t do anything.)
When I turned from Doodles rolling in the sun-warmed grass, I saw a group of tots in a soccer lesson maneuvering balls around cones. Artists set up booths and stands selling representations of New York City in a variety of media from charcoals to watercolor to photography.
A group of kids played baseball; whether part of a league or not, I couldn’t tell. It may have just been practice. Mixed pairs tightened a volleyball net in preparation for a beach volleyball match. Hoards of runners of all speeds made their way through the park in special lanes, flanked by cyclists who didn’t appear to be delivering anything and weren’t being honked at by angry cab drivers.
The horse-drawn carriages lined up on the park’s edge gave off the distinctive aroma of equine excreta, and I wondered if the locals resented their presence or felt they were part of the park’s charm. I took one of those tours of the park a few years back, contributing to the tourist traffic. But on this day I felt a bit superior, looking down my nose at all those silly rubes shelling out too much money to ride behind a gassy steed.
I didn’t cover the entire park, but I spent a half hour or so moving in and around the park, taking it all in. It was enough to make me silence my podcasts long enough to let the birdsong, barks and absence of car horns wash over me.
I remembered that November day in 2000 when I entered Central Park for the final two miles of the New York City Marathon. The paths were lined with spectators cheering us on to the finish. I felt every one of those rolling hills that day, and I don’t remember there being nearly as much sun as on this relaxed stroll.
All told, my walk was a little more than a hour and covered nearly four and a half miles. I certainly have had plenty of scenic walks since shifting from running six years ago on account of my gimpy knees. I’ve traversed beeches, mountains, campuses, streetscapes and parks, but on this spring morning, I reacted so powerfully I couldn’t quite process it all.
After a week of reflection, I think I settled on why this walk in this park affected me so deeply. It was the juxtaposition. The green scape right there in the middle of the very epitome of urbanity was transformative. I can understand why real estate on the park’s edge is so much more expensive than other locations in and around New York’s five boroughs.
The weather no doubt played a part. While we had been experiencing the warming of spring down South for several weeks, spring was just then coming to New York. Many trees were still in bud and had not started blooming. Temperatures were hovering around freezing when we arrived midweek, so a sunny 45 degrees felt great. What can I say, with apologies to John Denver, sunshine on my shoulders made me happy.
Collective joy also contributed mightily. Seeing so many people enjoying themselves spread the positive vibe like a contagion. Well, a good contagion, not like the one that afflicted our heads and chests as we returned home.
Although I am one of those aforementioned rubes coming in from out of state to enjoy the cultural offerings of our nation’s showcase city, I am sophisticated enough to know that not everything that happens in Central Park is daffodils and rainbows. But on a Saturday morning, it’s about as safe and inviting as any time in the city. I wasn’t accosted for money, mugged or cursed at for being in the way (“Hey! I’m walking here!”). I was just a happy fellow out for a stroll in the park.
My walk in Central Park reminded me of the value of parks in general and inspired me to take more advantage of the ones near me. I’m sure I could have a similar experience in Atlanta’s Piedmont Park, Lilburn Park or the nearby curiously named Mountain Park Park.
The next time the drudgery of urbanity gets me down, I’m going to find a dose of Serotonin at a park, and take it all in. If that doesn’t change my mood, maybe I’ll opt for a horse-drawn carriage tour. I’ll wear a gas mask if I have to.
New South Essays 