It’s actually been quite difficult to gather my thoughts, perhaps because the entire city walks a bit faster, thinks a bit more sporadically and behaves a little more cautiously, or a bit less friendly.
I’ve been to fourteen countries, and major cities like London and Hong Kong, but the last time I felt this overwhelmed on vacation was at the Grand Canyon. Regardless of your vantage point, it’s simply too much to take in at once, and I’m the kind of person who likes to see it, contemplate it, smile about it and then move on to the next thing.
When I first received my Jet Blue itinerary for New York, all I could think of was that Jay-Z song, “now I’m down in Tribeca…” and the Alicia Keyes harmony thumping out phrases like “lights will inspire you” and “concrete jungle where dreams are made of.” And with Jay-Z being the icon of New York, I thought I might even blog about all the lyrics he’s toned out in hip-hop to paint a portrait of the Big Apple.
But then I arrived in the heart of the city, at 5:55 in the morning.
There’s an eerie peaceful quiet at that hour, kind of reminds me of the country. So I guess it’s a good thing I landed at six AM, because come eleven AM it’s a whole different world. My first journey was to the former home of the World Trade Center. I took up a spot on the cool grass right in front of the Dow Jones Industrial building and spent a bit of time staring out across the water at the Statue of Liberty.
I’m not sure what I expected to see, or feel, but having watched the planes hit the towers from television, West Coast time, put a lump in my chest that I remember every time I pass through TSA security.
It’s hard to forget how I felt the day my country was being attacked by foreigners who lived among us quietly. Sitting there and seeing the big empty gap and a crane that was rebuilding a place where thousands of lives were lost stirred an odd emotion. I chuckled at the bent street sign that said “Liberty.”
Do we win by rebuilding the same sky-reaching buildings and moving on with life, or do we leave a hole in the Earth as a permanent reminder of what we lost, and what we gained? Apparently we rebuild and move on. Maybe I’m the kind of person who likes to dwell, but the thought of filling that gap in New York, and the gap in all of our hearts (New Yorker or not) didn’t seem fair.
Ellis Island and the Statue of Liberty portray the definition of America and freedom, but as I sat in a café at lunch where Zac Brown’s “Free” was playing, I couldn’t help but think new age New Yorkers don’t really know what freedom is.
I saw Zac Brown, a few years back, before “Chicken Fried” hit the radio, in a Podunk bar in San Diego with about thirty other people. His broke band had left Georgia on a bus, and traveled across the country. They were living their dreams, heading to LA in hopes of making it big. As I heard his amazing voice across a speaker in a crowded New York bistro at lunch I began to learn from the locals that a lot of people were born and raised in New York, have never left and never will. And that made me wonder, is this really the American dream?
Is this really what America is all about? Because in my mind freedom isn’t about being able to get any kind of food, at any hour of the day or night; it’s not about walking too fast, smoking too much or avoiding eye contact with your neighbors.
En route to the Top of the Rock in Rockefeller Center I saw something amazing. I saw NYPD taking down the American Flag, and folding it ever so cautiously for the evening. Watching that symbolic act reminded me of the pride our country was built on, that’s when I began to think about New York in the forties. Once on Top of the Rock I learned about the men who towered on A-beams high above the NY skyline years before to build what is modern-day New York.
I saw images of New York “back in the day” and during The Great Depression. As I peered out over Central Park and the city, from seventy-six floors up I wondered what it would sound like if all at once the whole city went dark. Pitch black.
Perhaps in that moment a city that “never sleeps” would have the ability to see a star, the ones we used to wish upon.
------ implied logical break of contemplation inserted here -------
Matt and I gave up on expensive over priced restaurants the first night, and started seeking out Gyro stands and Pizza-by-the-Slice dives, for some reason we felt “at home” among the people who were just working hard to make a living. And I’ll tell you -the amount of love that went into serving up a slice of greasy pizza was unbelievable. And even though they still give off that proud-air of “I don’t have time to ring you up,” the food was damn good.
$1.50 pizza slices in hand we crossed a massive street in the middle of the night heading back towards Times Square, and Matt accidentally dropped his napkins, smack in the middle of the road. He bent over to pick them up as the light was about to turn green and a guy behind him yelled, “You gonna get hit ova ah napkin?” while he hustled around us.
Matt, being the ever feisty guy that he is yelled back, “Where I come from we clean up our crap!”
I couldn’t help but laugh as Matt looked at me and said, “What’s he care anyways?”
I think it was the first time in the few days we’d been in New York that someone said something to us, without us asking them a direct question.
-------- perhaps I spoke to soon --------
Day three in NYC saw me on a solo tour to Staten Island via Ferry (shocking to me that this is actually a free trip), seems everything in Manhattan is utterly over-priced. Surprisingly enough a single trip on the subway lead me to understand somewhat of the attraction. You can be incredibly crazy, almost certifiable, and sing at the top of your lungs without a single person giving you a glance.
Hoorah, I’ve found the basis for the beauty. It’s a place where people can blend in and escape, where sociability is both a requirement, and completely unnecessary at the same time. Upon entering the doors to the ferry terminal I heard a friendly, “All Aboard!” over the loud speaker.
During the twenty minute journey to Staten Island I found peace and serenity in viewing the metropolis from the safety of a large orange boat. And I was surprised at how lonely I felt, despite the uber amounts of people around me. I overheard a gal say to her friend (and she said it best), “it’s just there’s no other place like it.”
Perhaps that’s how you sum it up. I spent quite a bit of time inside Grand Central Station, a stunningly gorgeous place, where time seems to stand still, and yet move incredibly quick at the same time. There I sat at an Oyster Bar next to a man who told me he’d just quit his job. Years and years he’d spent chasing the dream, an Israeli who had come here years ago, built an empire, and spent 165 days a year on the road.
I asked him what he planned to do now, he said, “This is it, sit right here, eat lunch with a perfect stranger, enjoy the conversation…and buy a small plane.”
As it would turn out, he’s also a pilot, military taught. He pulled out his phone and began to show me pictures of his dream aircraft, one that I have no doubt he will purchase. I contemplated his exhaustion, and wondered what all the hustle and bustle is for. I told him he should head to Montana, just to watch some grass grow.
I left shortly thereafter and headed back into the tornado, took a picture of myself in a glass window, walking down 6th Avenue of the Americas and chuckled as I realized I couldn’t find me in the photo.
I don’t feel inspired, I feel insignificant. I don’t feel proud, I feel confused. And when I dream, I dream of a time and place where people didn’t have a sense of entitlement, where they took ownership of their mistakes, and where they were accountable, and responsible. Somewhere in a distant land, where the words “inspiration,” “pride,” and “dreams,” was something you fought for and not took for granted.
So I guess what I learned about myself on my trip to New York City is that I may be born of a new generation of text messagers and the internet, where living in real time, is time that’s happening ten seconds from now. But, I’m of a different era, an era where when someone asks you directions you stop, give them directions, tell them the best place to get a beer along the way and wish them a beautiful day.
When did the American dream stop being about the journey and become about the destination?
After thought - I’d like to challenge the NYC hip-hop icon to come up to Georgetown, or any small city in America for that matter, spend a week and let the trees inspire him, a little town where dreams originated, … Or perhaps just do a collaboration with Mr. Zac-B, and let him ring in the harmonies, I bet it’d be pretty amazing.