I didn’t write a post this weekend. I could say I was busy, and that is true. I traveled to NYC to visit with old colleagues and friends from my last job. Some are now happily retired, a few are employed with a new nonprofit. Me? I am doggy-paddling in place, working on my novel and searching for jobs that will supplement my salary as an adjunct professor this spring.
Before I left, my partner reminded me that one doesn’t have to spend money to enjoy New York– exploring the streets is always free. He’s right, but only if one can resist the storefronts blinking and winking with shiny seductions: sirens of the city, they beckon me. One evening when my friends were engaged, I decided to (literally) rise above both the bustling commerce and my niggling anxieties by climbing the steps to the High Line. I hoped the walk might lift my spirits. Constructed on what was once an abandoned and rusting freight rail line that ran above the streets on Manhattan’s West Side, the High Line has reinvented itself as an imaginative and verdant public park. May it serve as a reminder and a metaphor– nothing remains the same forever.