an optimistic walk through the Park

Yesterday, I was taking my usual walk across Central Park towards the 'A' subway line and, ultimately home, when I found myself overcome by a sensation so foreign, I had nearly forgotten what it felt like - optimism. I was seized with a mystical calm as I made my way around The Pond. The sunset was casting an orange tint on the side of the buildings that rose above the trees along Central Park West. The setting sun rendered the skyline into an Edward Hopper painting with fiery highlights and deep, blue shadows. It gave a vivid, magical quality to the air. My strides shortened and breeze against my face slackened as I looked around me.

It felt like the first time I visited New York City. I no longer felt the burden of experience that I had come to resent- the infestation of corporate culture, the moneyed gentrification of dynamic neighborhoods, the crippling cost of daily living. For a few minutes, New York was a land where Woody Allen's Manhattan might still live. I felt that I was at the center of a bustling humanity- 13 miles of innumerable possibilities. The weight of the Now fell from my shoulders and I was anytime I wanted to be. I could race along the great arm of history and imagine myself on a stroll through the City of Ziegfeld or Scorsese or Warhol or Dylan or LaGuardia or The Ramones or Duke Ellington or the myriad of people who found greatness and contributed to this great quilt of community. I loved that I was here and that I was participant who cared what this city Was and Is and I want to make something for it.

I crossed 6th Avenue, ahead of a horse-drawn carriage and the furrowed path carved into the pavement. Past toy dogs and double-wide baby carriages with ivory infants and Caribbean women at the helm, I held my soft buzz of optimism beneath my jacket and skirted the cliches and disappointments. My pace quickened until I discovered that I had taken the wrong path and now I was out of the park and on the corner of 59th and 7th Avenue. I frantically weaved between Japanese, punk tourists and a young, smug hipster as he fruitlessly tried to hail a taxi. It felt that if I could just get home or maybe even into the subway or Somewhere, then I might be able to preserve this feeling and not lose it.

I ducked down a shallow path that allowed me a few yards between me and Now but it was already too late. By the time I reached the bustle of Columbus Circle, the Optimism had bled through my jacket and evaporated into the cold, night air. The sunset was fading into the glow of marquees and streetlights. The sky would be black by the time I reached home. I descended the subways steps and trudged back to the cave.