Gumption

Personal Yummy #2

One sunny and breezy afternoon, on my walk home from having lunch, reading, and writing in Central Park—one of my most favorite things to do when the weather is nice—I arrive at the southwest corner of Eighty-Eighth and Lexington just as an elderly woman with a walker does so. We both wait for the light to turn, and when it does, I proceed to cross over to the northwest corner of the street, although I hesitate a bit, considering whether I should ask the woman, who seems to be in her eighties, if she needs some help pushing her walker over the grooves in the rubber ramp of the curb, because she appears to be struggling somewhat. I hesitate again, however, immediately remembering the time a few years ago when I was on my way up the stone steps to the entrance of Our Lady of Good Counsel on East Ninetieth Street, and having passed an elderly woman in my haste, I thought better of it and turned back around. Looking down at her (she was hanging on to the railing and was having a difficult time at the bottom of the steps), I asked her, in a very agreeable tone, I’m sure, “Do you need some help?” Quite unexpectedly, I must admit—it really knocked me off my rocker, so to say—she flashed angry eyes at me and then said—her voice quite laden with sarcasm—“No, I certainly don’t. Why? Do you???!!!”

Therefore, with my past unpleasant experience in mind (and given my current general attitude that it is usually best to let individuals be independent and fend for themselves unless you are certain that they need assistance), I decide to allow the woman to take care of crossing the street herself. So I don’t say anything. But, in all actuality, I’m finding it hard not to observe her, and I really can’t keep my eyes off her.

She is gripping the handles of her walker as she moves slowly over the curb and onto the street, but what is significant about her is that she is severely hunched over and has to crane her neck all the way up and to the right (her right ear toward the sky) so that she can see where she is going. But what is really significant about her—I just love it so much—is the way she looks. Because of the angle at which her head is turned, it causes her straight, blonde, fashionable shoulder-length hair to fall freely in the air, like a beautiful, shimmering waterfall. And her eyes are protected behind oversize, full, prominent, black Jackie Kennedy–like sunglasses. What’s more, she’s wearing a colorful, sleek, shiny, thin fall coat that she hasn’t buttoned, one that you would most definitely see Carrie Bradshaw showcasing.

Suddenly, I am so happy that I decided not to offer her help. She obviously wanted to conquer getting past the curb and crossing the street on her own, just as she has conquered her infirmities with her girlish, uninhibited style.

She eventually arrives next to me once again, and then the light again changes. I hesitate one more time, certainly not ready to stop observing her. But of course I can’t stand there watching her forever. So I smile in her direction and then go on my way, realizing that it was a beautiful thing to be in the presence of so much gumption, if even for just a moment.