This weekend I walked in the steaming heat enjoying Summer Streets while traversing Park Avenue without cars. I will miss the next two Saturdays, so it was a pleasant reprieve to have more than enough room while walking among pedestrians, runners, and cyclists. I am going away. Initially I packed for a hot summer, but according to the lower temperatures in Dublin I was ill prepared. Following my lovely and tiring walk, I unpacked and repacked for a ten-day trip to Ireland. Instead of tank tops and sandals I’m bringing sweaters and socks.
I am very excited. Reading Edna O’Brian and Roddy Doyle, starting in high school, have instilled in me a love of Ireland, though I’ve never step foot on the Island. It was my college friend, Shawn Wilson’s idea. We had been trying to get together for years. We both have busy professional lives with very different schedules. Shawn threw out the idea and the trip was planned within a day. Not only did we agree on the one week that was good for both of us, but she found an amazing local tour that appealed to both of us. Since I am usually the planner in my family, it was an extra luxury to have my friend take care of the details.
We’ll meet up in Dublin and go from there, probably taking too many pictures. In the meantime, I have a few off-the-beaten-path pictures of New York City, pre-vacation.
Self-Care Tips:
Hugs. If you know a good hugger exchange a great hug. If you are on your own, wrap your arms around yourself for a self-loving embrace.
Seek out something unusual for you. Read an article from another point of view. Look up an unfamiliar country and find out about its culture, foods, landscape and customs.
Enjoy in-season fruits and vegetables. The peaches are divine. The strawberries and blueberries are at their peak. And summer squash is sweet and versatile.
There is a distinct feeling of “hygge’” a Danish word for contentment that comes from comfort and an easy friendliness, that perfectly describes the vibe we encountered in Copenhagen. Last week we had taken advantage of an Icelandair special to visit Copenhagen. I have always wanted to go to Nordic countries, but they seemed so remote. This deal with a stopover in Iceland was exactly what I needed to bridge the gap from a dream to a reality.
Throughout the years I’ve read food and travel blogs about Denmark and Copenhagen. And Copenhagen did not disappoint. The food was excellent. It’s so much fun to visit the outdoor markets, the covered markets, the cafes, the bakeries, and the restaurants. And, like New York, Copenhagen is a great walking city. Every chance I had I walked for miles, getting lost, finding myself in unknown neighborhoods or parks where there was always something new I encountered.
Our very first day in Copenhagen, jetlagged and hungry, we set off for a foodhall. The closest good one, we were told, was only one stop away on the “S” train. We dutifully walked the 15 minutes to the train station, bought our four-day pass for public transportation. The machine preferred European credit cards, so another ten minutes were spent trying to obtain our cards, but we prevailed. Next, we set off to find the S train, only to see that there were multiple tracks. We were flummoxed.
Luckily, a passerby helped us out and though we ended up on the Subway, we eventually found our way to the market. She was the first of many who embodied the hygge vibe. She was friendly, considered our request, and offered the best way she knew to get there. Even though we stopped others who had not known the directions we needed, all were kind, pausing from their morning commute to listen fully to our request. And, though it was our first hour in the city, there were many interactions that reflected the hygge mentality.
Right before we left for vacation, I had read a post that was critical of those who share their vacations on social media. She, the poster, saw it as bragging. It’s possible my posts can be perceived that way. Though not my intention, I do understand that traveling is a luxury, and it’s not always accessible to all. And, yet I love traveling and it’s an aspect of my life that always feels enriching. However, I did wonder if it was appropriate to share my travels.
After considering her post, I decided to share my experience. Travel means a lot to me. It gives me joy. Not only do I get a great deal out of traveling, the least of which was learning more about hygge on this trip, but I do bring back what I learn and do my best to apply it to my everyday life. I’m happy to be home. There is a hygge in sleeping in my comfortable bed, though I do miss the feather beds on our mattresses in Copenhagen. I am grateful to apply a new type of ease to my daily activities. There’s a good reason Denmark is the second happiest country in the world. I hope to visit Finland at some point, as that was rated number one. I look forward to seeing what I can learn on that trip.
Self-Care Tips:
If you listen to or read someone who has a very strong opinion, see if it applies to you. What they say is reflective of their point of view. So often we shut down our expressive selves because someone else says it’s not okay. Do your best to be okay with your choices and live your life fully as you, while not purposely hurting yourself or other. And understand not everyone will be okay with your choices, only you have to be okay with them.
Apply “Hygge” to your life. Find ways that bring ease and comfort. It’s simple but not always easy to take the path of least resistance.
Create a savings account for a specific goal or dream. For instance, I have a separate travel account. Even if your budget is small, set aside a dollar a week, less if that’s what’s needed. It can make the goal seem more real. There are many no fee apps and banks that allow for this type of account. Or you can use a specific change jar for a goal. This is great at any age.
Growing up my mother and her mother were sticklers for good manners. I made a point of saying please and thank you. I was afraid they would view me as rude, and I didn’t want that moniker. My grandmother would point out other children who might have been louder than us, or publicly whiny, and she’d use those children as cautionary tails of behavior we were to stringently avoid.
I appreciate good manners. Things can be pleasurably orderly when people stick to the rules, when the rules make sense for all. And I am always grateful for good manners. Yesterday, when I once again rode Park Avenue for Summer Streets, I made a point of thanking the police and the Department of Transportation volunteers and temp employees for being there. I was so grateful and happy to share that gratitude. All but one smiled back, and they were nice exchanges along the beautiful ride.
I was grateful I started out early so that the roads weren’t crowded. I was grateful for the cool morning air, a rarity in August. I had filled my tires so my ride was smooth. And to those that I thanked I may have seemed nice. But lurking underneath the gratitude and manners was a highly judgmental, cranky older woman. For the day I had become an architype. I was mad that some cyclists were in the right lanes, while some runners were in the left lanes. There was clear signage. Had I not been a shaky rider, I could imagine myself raising a fist each and every time I noted an interloper. I also wasn’t pleased when motor bikes vroomed down the supposedly gas-free streets.
In hindsight, I think these things scared me. I’m a tentative cyclist. I like empty roads without ruts. Smooth riding feels safer to me. If I give myself grace, I can now see that my righteous anger was a defense of my fears. And perhaps my fright isn’t specific to my bike ride. Maybe it’s global warming anxiety. Or a world in which people act out their fury in arbitrary ways. Or fear of an unknown future. Whatever the case I will do my best to ease my fears while living fully. I’ll continue to have good manners, a multigenerational practice. And I’ll check myself with care when my anger, judgment, and cantankerous nature peak out.
Self-Care Tips:
When angry, check to see if the strong emotion is protecting a more vulnerable part of you. If so, see if you can soothe yourself making room and a safe space for your frailer nature.
Challenge yourself in small ways by doing things that feels doable even if you’re a little bit afraid. It can be as small as a public bicycle ride in a busy city, stating a preference when you’re usually agreeable, or stepping out in a way right for you
Try reading or watching a genre that is new or different for you. I came to appreciate graphic novels, even if it’s not my go to. See if you might come to understand what others see in another genre.
My short bob is all over the place. I remember a time my mother would claim, “We have to tame your hair.” I still hear you, Mom, but I am wearing it untamed today. Maybe it’s the weather, maybe it was a deeply satisfying morning, but I’m feeling a bit untamed myself. Today is one of three City Streets in which Park Avenue is open to cyclists, runners and pedestrians. I took out my low bicycle and headed west to Park Avenue at 6:45 for a 7 a.m. start. I trudged up a small hill, understanding this was the only practice I’d get before riding on the northern hills of Park Avenue.
My helmet was on, my fanny pack in place. My curls sprouting from said helmet. I have been inspired by Jennifer Weiner’s long-distance rides, though this was not nearly as intrepid. I took off, surprisingly less judgmental about runners on the left where bicycles were directed to go. The slopes, which seem less of an incline when walking, felt particularly high when seated on my bicycle. I silently chanted from The Little Engine That Could, a childhood favorite, “I think I can, I know I can,” while trudging up the hills. It felt like one minor accomplishment after another enjoying my seven-mile ride.
I dropped my bike off and Lucy and I went off to the local farmer’s market. I had passed by on my way home while they were setting up, though when I returned the lines were long. I waited patiently. While I meditate to have patience, and I work on having patience, long lines and my precarious patience are not always a good match. Today, though, I easily had patience. Even when a woman claimed to have a spot in line in front of me, though I had never seen her before, I just let it be. Clearly getting to the register first mattered in some way I couldn’t understand.
When I got home I made gazpacho. I followed a simple recipe with the vegetable I procured from various farmers, and enjoyed it for a non-traditional, late breakfast. I had forgotten how much I love it. And, if that weren’t enough, the weather is beyond splendid. It’s cool with a breeze, something more akin to May than August. But I’ll take it. Lucy seems happy with it, too. She wasn’t clamoring to come back home as she often is in the sticky humidity.
All in all, it was a great morning. I’m grateful for days like today. This week was strenuous. A lot of tough emotions in and around me. This unexpected break has been a gift. Perhaps a nap today? Why not?
Self-Care Tips:
Stand with your feet apart and stretch out your arms so that your fingers are pulled out to either side. Take up space. Affirm your place on this earth.
Challenge yourself to climb a metaphorical or actual hill. What would have you enjoy a feeling of accomplishment? Can you take a step to get it done? O do you have the time and energy to complete it? Once done, acknowledge yourself for what you’ve undertaken.
Take a short summer vacation with a Jennifer Weiner book. Her latest is: The Summer Place. I’ve enjoyed her stories and books since Good in Bed in 2001.
Sometimes something so simple can be hard. I had the idea of riding my bike on the last Summer Streets on Park Avenue down to the Brooklyn Bridge. I keep my bike in my office. It’s a short folding bike, allowing for both my feet to touch the ground when I stop. It’s in my office so I can get out when the impulse strikes. It rarely strikes. I call myself a wimpy rider since I want to easily touch the ground, and I am not skilled enough to weave in and out of traffic. I will only face the streets to get into Central Park or ride on the East River promenade to Randall’s Island where there are few if any cars. Sometimes I lack the gumption. I have to fill the tires with air days before a ride since I’m not even sure what to do should I find myself with a flat.
I was out of town the first Summer Street week, and last week I thought I might, but my timing was off. The trick is to go early before the crowds. It’s not so bad riding on Park Avenue, which is wide and has separate sides going in either direction. But once we head around Grand Central Terminal and pass Union Square, we squeeze together on Lafayette Street, unable to pass slow cyclists, and the inevitable joggers in the wrong lane. (It is also true that certain cyclists ride on the jogging side.)
There was one cyclist on a Citibike chatting with her friend. I was on her left, when she veered to her left almost hitting me, and I yelled “On Your Left!” She was startled. I couldn’t believe that I reacted with such verve. Sometimes I think I’m fine only to have an innocuous moment force me to see how stressed I am. That was such a moment. It was contrasted by a lovely biker passing me on my way uptown simply stating in a warm, soothing voice, “ On your left.” I could move incrementally to my right to let her pass. It was an easy moment that juxtaposed my rash reaction.
I was excited and scared to take my bike on the ride. I liked the idea of being able to move easily through the streets of Manhattan. I wanted to take advantage of the opportunity. I love this city, and taking part in something like this elicits an inner thrill. But I am not great in terms of being part of a crowd. I’m a defensive rider, with a bit of anxiety thrown in to make it interesting, well, more like marginally stressful. I’m better off on an empty path speeding up and slowing down based on my own estimations, not on the precarious bicycling of strangers.
I didn’t wake up early enough to leave at 7 AM when the streets were wide open. Instead I ventured to Park Avenue at 10:30 AM, with all those tourists and New Yorkers on a pre-bunch ride. Nonetheless, I was set to go down to the Brooklyn Bridge and back again to Yorkville. I’m proud I made the ride, but I went for a slow jog today. I had enough of my bike for the weekend. If I can, perhaps I’ll make it to Central Park during a break this week. After all, my tires are filled with air.
I am cautious. I ride a low bike so that when I stop my feet reach the ground. This is reminiscent of my old banana seat bicycle in the 70’s with the purple handle bar streamers. It was comfortable because of its lack of height and its smooth, plastic seat. I was a proud rider on the streets of Haddontown, Kresson Heights, Brookfield and Woodcrest, riding my modern bike in my bright red keds.
This past week I braved the New York Streets to take my bike out for the third time this summer. I was halfway to my destination, Central Park, when I realized the traffic was too thick. Cars and trucks were double parked. I am not that adventurous. I am cautious. So, at Third Avenue I turned around and headed for the promenade on the East River. When I get to the park I ride to the crosswalk because I can avoid riding up on the curb. I like a flat ride, no bumps. That’s not easy in New York, so I do what I can.
It wasn’t very crowded. It was Tuesday, and some had just started back to work, while others were just getting back from their Labor Day getaways. I rode as if I were a child, gleeful to have the promenade virtually to myself. I ring my high-pitched bell when the few people walking are four wide and there’s no place for me to go. They part and I move on, happy I didn’t have to stop. I am in heaven. There’s something so sweet about moving in space, especially when I know at any given moment my feet can touch the ground.
janetzinn 