A Walk in the Park

One of my fondest memories of my time in London comes from one of my last few days abroad. I took a solo trip to the top of Primrose Hill, in Regent’s Park at the northern part of the city proper. From there, I could see perfectly the skyline of the city (for I had chosen an unlikely sunny day). It was a stunning goodbye view of a towering urban scape, foregrounded by the green and trees of the park, a reminder that in any truly worldly city, you never need to head far to escape the hustle and bustle.

The picture above, of course, is not of London but of Central Park. I’ve been spending a lot of time there.

The main reason has been to run. Every weekend, I take the 6 train uptown and get in a long run. Running in the park is such a great experience, because the number of people out there with you—running, biking, walking, using those weird roller-blade-ski hybrids—makes it feel like a race. There are people I see there every time, including this guy, sometimes passing opposite them multiple times in one run. It’s a great sense of a camaraderie.

In fact, now that the weather is nice, I find myself seeking this camaraderie every day. These past few weekends have seen me in Central Park, Madison Square Park, and Washington Square Park, the latter by way of Union Square Park. As I said, I believe that any truly great city must have these green spaces—long, meditative breaths among the panting of urban life. New York does a fabulous job of this.

Sometimes, while you lay on a blanket and read a book beneath flinging frisbees and among countless picnics and yoga classes, you can forget about the inherent rigidity that comes from the skyscrapers just beyond the tree line.

But, regardless of the peace you find within, these parks never truly let you forget you are, in fact, nestled in NYC. Just the other day, I heard a cheer and turned to see an entire meadow loudly supporting two girls shot-gunning White Claws. And a woman danced for three hours on the surface of a sheet, performing interpretive movements to music only she could hear. And another man sat on the post of a fountain and read out loud so proudly from an unidentifiable book that I had to find a new bench on which to read my own.

These fascinations, along with the escapism, are the reason that our cities need parks. Parks are where you can find a jazz quartet in the middle of a week day, or an art installation that wasn’t there the day before, or two little old women feeding the pigeons together out of a large purple suitcase.

Parks are also the place you can find some of the city’s greatest sense of community. On a nice day, especially at the slowly nearing end of this pandemic, it seems that the whole of the city convenes on Sheep Meadow for a group picnic. When Biden won, it seemed as though every single young person flocked to Central Park to have one big [socially distanced] party. The option for this congregation is so special, because cities usually find their form by way of gridded-out blocks, siloed apartment buildings and offices. The park is a literal breath of fresh air in the—often beautiful but sometimes stifling—weight of the city.

And thanks to NYC’s park variety, you can find perfect places to either people watch or be completely alone. I suggest the former, however. Nothing better than just spending time watching colorful New Yorkers walk by, listening to their conversations, scrutinizing their outfit choices and haircuts, or trying to catch the face of a local celebrity. (I saw chef and Chopped judge Amanda Freitag in Madison Square Park and was so starstruck.)

Perhaps even better than watching the people? Watching the dogs! The nice weather has brought the puppers out in full-force. A little weiner dog rolled onto its back for a stranger yesterday. This past weekend, a stranger’s dog took such a liking to me while I was reading that I petted him with one hand and flipped pages with the other. If you know my family, you know that we have been a bit dog-deprived for a while now, so these four-legged friends add such a needed layer of joy and innocence to the park-going experience, in a way only they can.

I often wish I got up to Central Park more often without the purpose of running by it all, but to sit by the water and take in the early blossoms. But the parks will always be there, and one day of running does not discount a visit the next day, and the next, and the next. Some wonderful people (Frederick Law Olmstead and co.) made these urban escapes possible and endlessly exciting, so your homework, as many semesters and school years come to an end, is to spend more time taking a walk in the park. It might be the metaphor for simplicity, but it can make a world of difference.