A lesson in spontaneity as I wander NYC

Springtime in New York is the stuff of Meg Ryan rom-coms and vintage Woody Allen flicks. Walk with me as I wander around the streets of NYC.

Sometimes I forget that I live in one of the biggest and most vibrant cities in the world. Maybe this is what the fog of winter malaise does—makes me forget that I can just hop on a subway and get out of my neighborhood bubble and escape the routine of my usual walking route of the same storefronts, the same street corners, the same Brooklyn trees.

Just when I get mired in these internal dialogues about how stagnant my everyday has become, I suddenly wake up and remember that I can hop on a subway and transport myself somewhere else.

Did the pandemic-era fear of catching Covid from the subway or getting punched in the face because I’m Asian plant this mindset change? Maybe, yes? It’s so curious how much of that sentiment has lingered, still, by something that is already years in the past. But last week I did just that.

I hopped on a subway with no particular agenda.

The fickle spring weather gods blessed that day with beautiful blue skies and warm enough temperatures to wear a thin layer under a light jacket that would later get too warm to keep on. About five stops in after crossing the East River into Manhattan, I decide to go gallery hopping in Chelsea.

Springtime in New York is the stuff of Meg Ryan rom-coms and vintage Woody Allen flicks. Yes, NYC can really resemble the movies sometimes. As I emerge above ground out of the 23rd Street station, I swear I could hear birds chirping and a swell of jazz horns carried on a rhythm of a distant hi-hat beat. I see women carrying bouquets of deli flowers and couples inside coffee shops cupping their steaming lattes, heads close together in giggles and conversation. I cross the street and head west towards 10th Avenue.

On 22nd Street, I pass a gaggle of high school students on their lunch period, most without jackets and some in their gym shorts. They overtake the entire sidewalk and I step off the curb to avoid being swallowed by the crowd of teenagers. I overhear bits of gossip—“did you hear what Emily said to Lila this morning??”—and chatter about lunch decisions—“who else is getting pizza?” I immediately think of my own high school kid who must be on her lunch break right now.

A man watering shrubs and tree beds around a building’s entrance stops the stream of water from his hose so that I could pass. He nods in my direction and gives me a smile. I greet him with a smile in return.

I cross 8th Ave behind two men who are clearly business professionals headed to a meeting. They talk with animated arm gestures and one of them is waving around a leather folio of what I assume are very important papers. They’re both dressed in “business casual” attire, but curiously identical: a blazer over a light colored button-down shirt, paired with jeans and sneakers.

I glance down at my own outfit and realize to my dismay that I’m dressed exactly the same way, down to the navy of my blazer and the Nike Airs on my feet. 😒 I furrow my brows and grimace. I slow my pace down considerably and turn left on 9th Avenue because I don’t want to look as if I’m a third wheel in their oddly coordinated walking meeting.

I arrive at my first gallery stop at 521 W21st Street and enter behind a couple who holds the door open for me. We climb the stairs together to the second floor, me a dozen steps behind. They appear to be my age, but wealthy, though I know I am making gross assumptions. The woman is casually dressed in jeans and a trench, but the trench is impeccably tailored and she wears suede loafers. I don’t own a pair of loafers and I wonder to myself whether this is the difference between me and those who have an excess of disposable income.

They enter the gallery with purpose, the woman making a beeline for a particular painting while the man heads to the desk and studies a line sheet that sits on top of a stack in front of the gallery attendant. Ten minutes later, they meet in front of the same painting and whisper to each other as if they are contemplating a purchase.

This Chelsea neighborhood is where I commuted to work before Covid chased us all away to our apartments and held us captive on Zoom. As I find a place to sit for a minute, I see New Yorkers enjoying the balmy weather as they eat their salads and sandwiches. I see glimpses of my pre-pandemic past as I walk behind pairs of coworkers carrying iced lattes back to the office.

I head towards the train station at Herald Square via 30th Street, passing blocks on this no-man’s stretch of Manhattan that doesn’t really have a neighborhood name. I’m soon engulfed by the crowds and sounds of pedestrian and car congestion that is second only to Times Square in its madness of urban chaos. I spot a large group of cheerleaders and a disassembled marching band milling about at the entrance of Madison Square Garden. They’re all in blue uniforms, some with their faces painted, presumably for their university’s basketball team. I realize it’s March Madness.

I pass by as they practice their routines, silently mouthing their cheers and I continue on to 34th Street, past the throngs of shoppers, food cart vendors, and tourists stopped in the middle of the sidewalk to gawk at the view of the Empire State Building. I pass retail and office workers enjoying their coffee breaks and lunches outside on pedestrian squares as I head down into the underbelly of the city to the F train home to Brooklyn, where I emerge forty minutes later in my neighborhood, grateful to come back to a less congested, quieter piece of the city I call home.

A long-standing cafe I often pass in my neighborhood. I’ve lived here for nearly 25 years. Which feels crazy, btw, that I’ve lived anywhere for this long.

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A recent mom-daughter date at The Met

A few weeks ago, when boredom and restlessness hit a fever pitch in our home, my teen and I left the apartment to have a touristy day in Manhattan. Just her and me, a mom and daughter date at The Met. We wanted to catch the costume exhibition, “Women Dressing Women” before it closed. I had great fun admiring all the beautiful dresses with my kid who shares my interest in fashion.

These were some of my favorites:

We sat inside the Temple of Dendur and I told her stories of how this was the exact spot at The Met where I sat every week when I was an art student waiting for the rest of my art history class to arrive. I was only a year older than she is now.

The last time we were at the museum together was a special day in November of 2020 when we went to see her artwork in a juried exhibition of NYC public school artists. Fourteen years old at the time and the kid could already say that she had a drawing hanging at The Met. That day was the same afternoon that Biden officially won the election. Wild celebrations erupted on the streets as New Yorkers marched and cheered at every car and bus that honked as it drove by. It was the best day of the pandemic so far during the worst year of our lives.

Me, apparently caught in deep contemplation about my 18 year old self sitting in this same spot for art history class.

We sat outside on the steps of the museum reminiscing about that day, basking in the warm sunshine and city energy. Nearly four years and an entire high school career has passed since the last time she was here. I promised her that we would have more dates like this in the time we have left together before she’s off to college.

We suddenly both craved pizza and went searching for the first pizza joint that we eventually found on Lexington Ave. Sometimes a greasy, cheesy, NYC slice really hits the spot. Afterwards, we made our way to a cozy cafe where we savored our steaming mugs of hot lattes and delicious pastries, our heads huddled together in giggles and conversation.

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A few things around the internet I found interesting

• Are Gen Xers the New Boomers? (Dame Magazine)
  “Gen X has had decades of experience being overlooked. Hell, our own parents had to be reminded of our existence by a televised public-service announcement that intoned “It’s 10 o’clock. Do you know where your children are?” 
  I was JUST thinking about this PSA and how it would come on TV every night when I was a kid!

• A Killer Paradox (Netflix)
  I’m a fan of Choi Wooshik (Parasite, Jinny’s Kitchen, Train to Busan). This Kdrama crime thriller is one of those stories where a person inadvertently does a bad thing but then gets pulled into a series of other bad things. It’s also cinematically beautifully shot.

• The Art World Gender Bias: A Gift From the Past (Open-folio)
  “We have mastered the art of aversion when confronted with the art world gender bias. Why don’t we want to talk about it and is the market value of women artists representative of today’s attitudes?” 

• The Reading Group Revival How a new generation of readers are driving the popularity of book clubs.
  Enjoyed this piece by

  Kate Jones
  , particularly because I have Gen Z kids and also because our public libraries in NYC have now closed on the weekends due to budget cuts. 👎