This trip was a chance for me to quite literally get away from the mundanity and complacency of my life at home. After two back-to-back weeks of Steve traveling and me watching Bub on my own, I needed a break to rejuvenate my soul.
Deep down, I fear a banal existence. I crave creativity, progress, and originality. I seek diversity and difference. Things I miss when I’m living the motherhood routine day in and day out in the ‘burbs. I struggle to incorporate these values into mine and Bub’s life, especially when I’m serving up the same meals and activities everyday.
I knew NYC was the right place for me to get away. I’ve written about my love for NYC before. There’s something about this city that revitalizes me. The array of cuisines, the unique boutiques, the insane museums, the ease of getting to it all by subway. I’ve always found New Yorkers so kind and welcoming. Somehow, I feel at home.
A bit ironic when my very goal is to get away from the word.
This trip, I ate where my heart desired. Fluffy blueberry pancakes with melted maple butter at Clinton St. Baking Company. Hot dog with onions, sauerkraut, and mustard from The Hot Dog King. Sushi at Sugarfish. I pampered myself with a prenatal massage and facial and felt like a queen. I perused secondhand stores with all the time in the world.
I made a point to visit the Crossings exhibit at the Met, where Robert Colescott’s and Kara Walker’s versions of Washington Crossing the Delaware made me excited about art again. I found inspiration in the early 20th century American paintings of our natural landscapes. A reminder of the abuse we’ve inflicted on our environment, wildlife, and indigenous communities in just a short century. I imagined how different the world would be had colonizers learned from them instead of conquering them. Before I left the museum, I stopped and stared at John Brown storming into the frame with abolitionism. For the first time that I can remember, I went to the art museum and breezed by the European exhibits and instead, spent more time in the American ones. For someone who once wanted to major in art history and move to Europe, this was a significant moment for me - symbolic of my recent resolutions in life.
I used to dream about being a mom in the city. Glamorously pushing my baby in a stroller while crossing Fifth Ave - my long hair waving in the wind. Walking through Central Park with my toddler, stopping at the zoo. Discussing fine art with my 10-year old as we ponder a Van Gogh at the Guggenheim. Skipping to a date night dinner with Steve at Gramercy Tavern. Riding the subway on weekends with the whole family.
Then, I had a kid and intense postpartum anxiety. Triggered by cigarette smoke and carbon exhaust, terrified of construction sites and congested places, my dreams of having a family in the city were dashed.
But this trip, I saw tons of children, seemingly everywhere. I saw parents pushing strollers with multiple kids - in narrow restaurants on Lexington, on the subway, in the chaos of SoHo, through the crowds at Chelsea Market, and at 8:30 pm at the Met. I saw parents walk down the street with their kids without batting an eye at the smoker or noticing at all the truck that sped by. These parents appeared to stroll with ease. These parents are my heroes. And guess what, I tell myself, their kids are thriving.
Someday, maybe someday, I’ll bring my kids to New York City. But for now, I’m going to keep it to myself and enjoy it as much as I can.
