NYC: An Absence of Panic, A Waiter with Dreams, A Writer Inspired

In NYC, my friend Julie asks me if I’m daunted by the crowds. She knows me well and is worried about me. My anxiety level rises and falls in relation to people. Some people are panicked by elevators or heights, but my own shaky-legged, heart-racing, head-pounding, queasy panic tends to set itself off in crowds. The problem is that I never know which crowd will provoke this response in me. Sometimes it’s a crowd of two and sometimes it’s a mall full of holiday shoppers.

I didn’t feel panic while walking the streets of NYC. In an odd way, I felt accepted, like a chameleon that blended naturally among the thousands of anonymous faces. Instead of heart-racing panic, I felt engaged and curious.

I didn’t meet any rude New Yorkers — not a single one — and I found that the anonymity I felt on the streets quickly disappeared in neighborhoods. The girls at Starbucks knew my order after just a couple of visits. The bartender at Muldoon’s knew that I liked my margaritas on the rocks, with salt. Strangers patiently explained the subway system to me. I met a group of school children, including DeJohn, who entertained me on the Uptown Express. A beautiful woman named Fate prevented me from getting off at the wrong stop.

And then there was Lewis, a West Village waiter with a Master’s degree, who used to teach school but who’s now working on a novel in-between counting tips and worrying about his future. Lewis and I bonded. I told him about my road trip, he told me about his dreams. Over eggplant parmesan and red wine, we bantered about love, lost hopes, crazy-making circumstances, and taking risks.

Afterward, Lewis walked my friend and I to a nearby bar he thought we’d enjoy. He introduced us to the bartender and made sure we knew which subway we had to take when we were done exploring the neighborhood.

The West Village was my favorite place in NYC. I could envision myself living in one of the brick-front apartments near Christopher Street, shopping for groceries at the Gourmet Garage, planting flowers outside my window, browsing books at Three Lives & Company, and visiting the Cubby Hole bar on Friday nights. There was an ease to the West Village that lent itself to imagining — writing stories at an outdoor cafe, walking hand-in-hand down Greenwich, or sitting on a stoop watching people pass by on clear summer days. In reality, the cost of renting an apartment in the Village is prohibitive, especially for people like me, who like to live alone.  If I could afford to, I’d seriously consider living here, even if only for a year or two. My short visit has left me inspired and filled with stories. It’s also made me miss my dogs, Hanna and Hudson. Hanna, the lab mix, would have loved standing sentry on a stoop. Hudson, the Daschund, would have loved walking the neighborhood streets and stopping at any one of the dog-friendly cafes that provide water bowls and bone-shaped treats. Like me, he was filled with curiosity, and loathe to return home when there was so much left to explore.

I’m not done with NYC. For now, I’m heading to Park City, Utah to speak on a panel sponsored by Buick at the EVO ‘10 conference. Afterward, I’ll make my way back to the East coast, where I’ll visit the West Village again, and parts of New York I missed this time, including Brooklyn, Queens, Harlem and a few Upstate cities. I’m excited about returning, but I really hope I can carve at least a week out of my schedule to do nothing but write the stories that have already filled my mind.

Tagged as: NYC, Road Trip Notes