The Return to New York

Mar 24

I have always been a big city person. Well, I guess a big city person smartly contained in the body of a person who lives in small to moderate sized cities. After college I followed my big city need and moved across the pond to London, England. I remember stepping out of the door every day into the teeming motion of the capitol city of the country. I loved the constant energy. The brightness of movement and life at every moment. I would walk home after working the bar at the Shaftesbury Theatre late. By the time the show was over, the house cleaned, and a few pints grabbed it was often so late that it was early. Two in the morning on Oxford Street was still flooded with people, groups congregated around the open doors of chip shops and spilling out of bars and pubs. People sang and laughed and chatted. I never felt alone or unsafe. It felt like my natural environment. But unfortunately, it was not to last, I was called home sooner than I had expected, my parent’s health deemed it necessary. My life in a big city, my life that felt so right had to end.

When I came home from London, I promised myself that I would end up and live the rest of my life in a city. I was only going to be home for a short time and then I would free my wings and fly away again. And then my mom got cancer. And I stayed. And then she died. And I stayed. And then I met my now husband. And I stayed. And then we got married, and then had our first son and then my dad got sick and then he died. And I stayed and stayed and stayed. I never got the chance to move back to the city life I had so wanted. For years I grieved that. Not the life I have, not that, but that possibility and hope of our life playing out on a bigger stage. I grieved it thoroughly, probably more deeply and acutely than I should have. Finally, the grief had to find another channel, I had to turn it. I chose that if I couldn’t live in my very favorite place then I would have run away there, often. I called up my dear friend and booked a trip to New York City. And continued to do so every year following.

Just a few weeks ago, I finally made my way back there. The last time I had been to New York was December of 2019. It was a spectacular trip, with my darling co-writer, Aria, our Tizzy and Aria’s oldest and best friend Zoerima. We tried on fancy dresses, ate yummy food, drank too much wine, saw “Moulin Rouge,” and careened through the streets of Manhattan on the high that only that city can give you. And then the pandemic hit. We were all confined not just to our towns but our own homes and families. Of course, this is no surprise to anyone, for a time our whole country was in the same state. And it continued for over two years. (To be fair, it is continuing but for the purpose of this story, I shall decide that it is waning now.) I went nowhere, I saw no one. There were hardly any trips to the grocery store, let alone across the county to one of the most densely populated cities in the country. For a short while, that felt ok. But then as it stretched out indefinitely, the loss of my city and of my soul’s food, theatre. So, when the world finally felt even a fraction safe, I knew what I had to do. It was time to go back.

Usually a trip to New York, for me, is all about packing in as many shows as I possibly can. That generally means that I spend roughly 75% of the days in theatre, showered with the magic that is Broadway. This time was different though. The pandemic world has not been kind to the world of performance. I mean, we make careers of closeness, and connection. It’s pretty hard to do that from six feet away. Every time there seemed to be a break in the sweep of disease, we as theatre people would jump to attention and readiness to bring life back to theatre again. Unfortunately, despite all of our hopes, the next wave always drowned the possibility. And this was no different with Omicron. I had already bought tickets for several shows and was so disappointed as I watched shows begin to disappear. I started to receive notifications of my tickets no longer being useful as the show had closed. I even considered changing the dates of my trip. But despite it all, I forged ahead with the docket I had left even though it was fewer than I would have liked.

The thing about having fewer shows to see, meant that I was able to take it a little bit slower, not have to fill every moment. As a mom of four, I am almost never alone, and I certainly don’t ever sleep past seven in the morning more than a few times a month. My life is built around making sure my family is taken care of. My own needs and wants are so far down the list, they almost don’t exist. And yet, when I was in New York, I had no one pulling at me. No one needed me to do anything for them. I actual slept in until 10 am every day! I drank my coffee hot and uninterrupted and even showered on a daily basis. (How sort of sad it is, what we as mom’s treasure as exciting or self-care.) And instead of rushing off to a show every day, I was able to just exist in the flurry of New York and my own person.

In this newfound freedom, I did what I love to do in NY. I walked. I walked all over the city. The first place that drew me to walk was across the city to Chelsea, Chelsea Market, the little Islands, and the Highline. With each trip, I spend at least one day walking from the east side of the city all the way down and over to the west side. When I discovered Chelsea Market, I knew that this was a palace that I would need to visit with every trip. You walk into the market on ninth avenue, and it trails back for a block, exiting on tenth. As you wind though the long building you are buffeted by incredible smells, stands of gorgeous florals, fun nooks full of world markets and bookstores. And when you reach the other end, there is a maker’s market. The booth where I used to buy Trav the best ties is there. Once I found a booth that created scents based upon your astrological signs. I have also bought Trav countless creative graphic t-shirts there. Strolling along the long hall is a feast for each sense and I absolutely adore it.

It seems like each time I return to the city, there is a new, grand scale art installation. Last time it was The Vessel, a huge, walkable copper honeycomb on at Hudson Yards. And before that it was the High Line. This time around, the newest installation was the Little Island. A series of huge concrete platforms built upon tulip shaped stilts that make up a rolling mini-island just off Pier 55 in the Hudson River. As I explored the industrial and yet totally natural spot, I happened upon art wind spinnies, expansive views of Manhattan, and across to Hoboken, and, to my heart’s delight, an open-air theatre. It is often hard to enjoy space and air in the city so taking a turn around this newest open-air exhibit was an exceptional treat.