When I was in the fifth grade I had a recurrent dream that I could fly. I was elated that I could soar past the bullies and the teasers. I loved that they had to look up to me in my dream. I soared in the air down Haral Place past the mailbox on […]
When I was in the fifth grade I had a recurrent dream that I could fly. I was elated that I could soar past the bullies and the teasers. I loved that they had to look up to me in my dream. I soared in the air down Haral Place past the mailbox on my way to Stafford School. I held onto that dream. It gave me a sense of being special when I felt anything but special.
But the teasing got worse in junior high. Patty Craven howled at me as if I were a dog. She bribed a classmate to ask me out so they could laugh at me. She was cruel, but I took it. I found small ways to be unkind to others, somehow justified in my low social ranking. I wasn’t proud of my behavior. I got myself, and an accomplice, in trouble by confessing to a teacher. I couldn’t live with my guilt.
It was then that I longed to be invisible so I could hear what the popular girls said about me, but they wouldn’t know I was there. I could disappear so that I wouldn’t be inclined to emulate the bullies. I just wanted to blend in, so that my frizzy hair and my bad complexion wouldn’t make a statement. Or I didn’t want to be seen at all. But, that was not to be. Once in a while I would still dream of flying, but during the day I was an obvious target.
Being invisible seemed like the coolest super power. Casper was a friendly ghost and he was invisible. It was a nice power. Samantha and her relatives could become invisible on Bewitched. And, Jeannie from I Dream of Jeannie could vanish after some mishap. Boy, would I have loved that in school and at home before my mother punished me.
Nonetheless, like all the mortals I’ve known, I could not make myself invisible, until now. Forty-six year later, at the precipice of my 60thbirthday my wish has come true. I walk down the street and must quickly side step the person coming towards me. I look at the businessman leering at the woman in front of me while unaware of my presence. Tada, meet invisible me.
On the sidewalk I’ve had gadget-frenzied individuals run into me, shocked when they hit a person who was unseen moments prior. I can hear inappropriate conversations in ride shares because the other passengers aren’t aware that this particular unobserved person can hear their banter. I am reading my emails on the bus when two loud friends sit next to me and continue in their outside voices, as if I am not there.
These are the minor inconveniences. More than anything, being invisible has its advantages. I am no longer concerned on the days I go around with unkempt hair. My shoes are comfortable because I’m okay with someone seeing me with my walk-friendly athletic wear, understanding that most people won’t be looking at all. There’s a delightful freedom in that. Not only can I face the world with abandon, I observe the quirks of others in private. So I embrace my invisibility. Though it serves a different purpose from the wish of my 13-year-old self, I am relishing the magic of post-mid-life invisibility in the present.
I have courted a lover from an early age. The depth of this love only grows with time. There is so much to love. And, daily opportunities abound to enjoy all my lover has to offer. New York City is my first and true love. When I return from a trip, I gasp internally each and every time I see the city skyline, affirming my devotion.
(Image from online stock)
I have given up a lot, though it feels like a fair trade-off. I live in a small apartment, one in which our family of three regularly negotiates for space. But our rent is reasonable, for the city, due in large part to rent stabilization laws. This detail allows me to see the theater I enjoy so much, attend art exhibits, visit museums, listen to amazing music, and dine at restaurants offering delicious meals. The apartment is right off the unsung Carl Shurz Park by the East River Promenade. The volunteers work diligently to make it a haven for our Yorkville neighborhood.
(Image from online stock)
But perhaps more than the art, the culture, the food our city offers is the diversity that brings the city to life. Walking the city block to block, park to park, borough to borough, I see a kaleidoscope of ethnicities, free music, international representation, class range, income disparities, architectural designs, clothing choices, anonymity and personage.
As with all loves there are aspects of the city that leave me cold. I don’t like how public housing is neglected, how there is inequality in the treatment by certain law enforcers. I am unhappy with the lack of access to good healthcare for the underserved. I don’t like how dirty certain streets can be. I don’t like how crowded the city can get. I am not happy with the lack of resources for mental health services, including no well-paid professional with manageable caseloads. These all matter to me, and other New Yorkers, and we are hopeful for lasting changes.
(images from stock online)
As I think about what I truly love about this city, I think of how long it took to build and rebuild the infrastructures that support the arts, the parks and the other gratifying outlets the New York City offers. With care and attention, I am hopeful that we can heal the issues that ail the city at large.
(Images from online stock)
So, while the process is at play, I will continue to walk down the streets of my city, feeling the love, stopping to enjoy my favorite places that offer transcendence from every day stressors.
(Stock from Online)(HuffPost)
The New Year’s Eve race in Central Park is an iconic run given by New York Roadrunners. It features fireworks at midnight, just as the run begins. I had great plans to participate in the Midnight Run tonight. It started in 1978, but I didn’t hear about until the mid-80’s, when my roommate, Astrid ran it. I thought it was amazing. I wasn’t a runner, so it never occurred to me that I would ever spend my New Year’s eve in the park running. And, yet, a few years ago I did my first run. I ran two more times, starting with my cousin Zena, and then with a friend the next year. Two years ago I was on my own.
It’s an exciting event with dancing prior to the run, and a buzz in the air with runners from all over the city, the country, and the world. And, if that’s not enough, tell anyone what I did on New Years and I’d receive kudos. Needless to say, I thought it would be a terrific way to start my year. I started running with caution the last couple of months. Thinking I was ready for this, I purchased my spot, and took a run last week to pick up my number and shirt. At 11PM I dressed for the run, including the requisite knee supports. Lucy, our dog, requested to go out, shortly after, and I accommodated her. While we were walking, I realized that it would not be fun at all for me to go around the park in the rain. I’m a slow runner so it would take me about an hour to do the four miles. And, it takes awhile to get to the starting line due to the amazing crowd that shows up for this iconic run. I’d be soaked. Plus, racing on a slippery road, adds a stress of falling that takes away from the pure joy of it.
Accordingly, I took a pass. Normally, having said that I would go, would be reason enough to show up. It can seem like a strong statement to start one’s year this way. How could I change my mind? How could I make a choice in the moment that’s better for me? I knew I would be proud once I had finished the run, but, as it turns out, I am more proud for not going.
Not running is freedom. I have choices I didn’t have earlier in my life. I used to feel obligated by what I imagined others would think. But tonight it was what I thought that mattered most. Saying no to the run was saying yes to me. Missing this one run feels like a big win.
It was around 1974. It had to be since it took about four years for my mom to perfect her tennis game. She played every day at the Cherry Hill Tennis Courts. She started out at the free outdoor courts in Kressen Woods, but it didn’t take long for my mom to realize that indoor courts were her best bet. It was winter so playing indoor tennis made sense. On that chilly Wednesday I answered the phone, hopeful that a friend was calling. But it was for my Mom. The rich, low voice on the other end said he was Gladys Knight’s manager and wanted to see if Arlene, my mom, would play mixed doubles with them. I could not believe my ears. I wrote down the message, making sure I got the number right. This was way better than any random weekday call from a friend. When I told my mom she had a message, she first thought it was a prank. But her curiosity got the better of her and she ended up calling back. Turns out Gladys was headlining at the Latin Casino, the Vegas Style night club that graced the West side of Cherry Hill’s Route 70. Ms. Knight liked to play tennis but they needed a forth. My mom’s name was offered.
The next day, Thursday, after her regular league, my mom stayed and played mixed doubles with Gladys Knight and two of the Pips on court 14. It was on the end, and was reserved for games without viewers. I couldn’t wait until she came home. She said they were very nice and they were on for another game the next day, a Friday. Not only that, but they asked her to be their personal guest at their show Friday night. I wanted to ask so much more, but dinner had to get on the table and my chores took priority, at least while I lived in her house. I had fantasies of going with my mom, even though it was a nightclub and I was 14. My mom was strict, and as far as she was concerned fourteen was closer to childhood than adulthood. I had a differing opinion, like any good adolescent.
My mom was no expert in making decisions, so she had to think about the offer. I was amazed she had to think at all, how could she Not see a Motown star’s act? But the words, “I have to think about it,” usually meant a delayed NO. And that time was no exception. She said they were lovely, but there would be too much smoke at the club. My Mom was a dedicated Camel smoker until I was six, probably when she was pregnant with my brother. Since then she would cough loudly in any public place, asking anyone within her vicinity to put out his cigarette. Usually my mom was bashful, but she boldly made her requests much to the chagrin of the smokers.
Fast forward to this summer, and my husband, Larry, has been working at Pier 17, the outdoor venue at The South Street Seaport. Gladys Knight was headlining last week, and I knew I just had to see her. Larry made it happen. Everyone at the venue treated me as if I had just played tennis with Gladys. Knight. But they were just great at hospitality. It was a spectacular night. Before the show, the audience members started coming in. They looked extraordinary. Everyone was dressed up to the nines. It was it’s own show. Then the band opened the act. In came the star. Gladys Knight is musical royalty, yet she performs with enthusiasm and a generous heart. Her voice sounded beautiful, complimented by her excellent band and back-up singers. My mom might have thought the 1974 show wasn’t for her, but for me, Gladys Knight is a Knight to remember.
What can I say about a dream come true? Shall I say that I spent most of my life believing my dreams wouldn’t be fulfilled? I lived much of my early years longing for the things that others had. The thing about my longings is that it kept me out of the loop. There’s an unspoken presumption that it was beyond my reach. Growing up I heard about the trips to Florida my classmates took. I longed to audition for a traveling high school production of Godspell, but had to work, and couldn’t afford to take time off, let alone pay for a ticket to California. I felt left out. Moving to New York in the early 80’s, there were apartments for sale at accessible prices. But for me, getting my hands on $200 was as elusive as paying for a $20,000 apartment. It took years to learn that there were ways to have what I once thought as impossible. I learned that by working hard in psychotherapy. And, throughout the years I’ve realized a few of my dreams, my own private practice, running the NYC Marathon at 56, and most recently, going on Safari in Africa.
It was a month ago Larry and I were in East Africa. It truly was a dream come true. I first had the idea when my mother mentioned wanting to go to Africa when I was a child. In my mind, we would go together. But through the years it became apparent she was not one who could travel easily. I, on the other hand, started traveling in college. First studying art history in Paris, and visiting a few other European cities. Then doing what I could to go on local road trips, and visit other countries. But one of my bucket list trips had yet to be realized.
A little over ten years ago I created the Africa fund. This was separate from a vacation fund, or any other savings account I had. I had thought I’d go for my 50th birthday, but I hadn’t saved enough to do anything but backpack, and I’m really no camper. So, I aimed for my 60thbirthday. When my mother died this year, I thought, “Why wait? We only live once. ” And, so, I started planning the trip. We chose Micato Safaris, which turned out to provide an amazing adventure. They designed special experiences throughout. Elephants are my favorite animal, and they made sure my time with Elephants surpassed any and all expectations.
We started out in Kenya. We went to the Nairobi National Park. It was our first safari experience. There is a unique energy trying to visually locate animals in their natural habitat. Giraffes can be easier to spot based on their height, but most of the animals blend in so beautifully that it was not as easy to spot them as I would have imagined. Later we went to a Giraffe sanctuary. They save endangered giraffes, and raise them until they can go back into the wild. We got to feed these beautiful creatures with their purple, foot long tongues, and expressive eyes. Later we visited the Sheldrick Wildlife Trust, which is an orphanage for baby elephants. They ran past us in the sweet line as they made their way into their nightly beds. They are rescued elephants, who are raised for their first few years, then introduced back into the wild, with their dedicated foster parents.
The next day we flew to Tanzania for the Tanzania Spectacular tour. It is aptly named. We visited Tarangire, where we stayed in luxurious treetop cabins. From there we went to the Ngorongoro Crater. It is like nothing else in that it attracts all the wildlife since there is a good supply of water. From there we drove to the Serengeti. The Serengeti is vast and varied. There we were able to see so much. And, though I was enamored by all the animals we saw, I have to say, I loved meeting and speaking to everyone we encountered. When our tour ended in Tanzania Larry and I went to Zambia to enjoy the beauty and splendor of Victoria Falls. While there, we went on a motor boat on the Zambezi to The Elephant Cafe, a restaurant that serves local cuisine after feeding and petting the rescued elephants they care for. It was an outstanding experience, from the crocodiles and hippos by the river, to a five star meal after communing with the gentle giants.
Each moment of each day was full and satisfying. I felt transformed. Not only was I able to go somewhere I had only dreamed of, but I was able to enjoy all the trip had to offer. I don’t know how it’s changed me. Only time will tell.
I ran my first race in over a year. It was slow process, both recovering from benign injuries, as well as running 15-minute miles this morning. In the past months I went through acupuncture, medical massage and physical therapy putting Humpty Dumpty back together again. So, tentatively, step by step I took on Central Park’s Drive.
What I noticed right away was the throngs who passed me as I inched my way forward. I am no stranger to being left behind. In elementary school I often was picked last in kickball, more for my lack of popularity than for any inability to kick and catch the ball. In junior high school I was not asked to parties. I awkwardly went to school dances, uncertain how to pretend I was fine while swaying my hips to The Captain and Tennille. Then, in my early adult years, I didn’t know how to negotiate apartment hunting, and ended up subletting again and again to keep a roof over my head. I am still learning how to navigate the world.
But today, I knew where I needed to be for start of the event. I showed up along with a few thousand New York Road Runner members. Each one of us running for our own reasons. This run helped me appreciate what I’ve learned over the years. Some things are easier for some and not others. We all have our own journey. And, having others pass me can distinguish my particular trek through life. A perfect spring day in Central Park making for an invaluable run.