Central Park Reflections: A Trio of Originality and Abandon

Personal Yummy #73

Sitting on my favorite bench in my favorite spot in Central Park, I look up from my book, Never Can Say Goodbye: Writers on Their Unshakable Love for New York, and there she is: a petite, blonde, curly-haired little girl running past me haphazardly and all over the place, and then backtracking and walking on, balancing on, and falling off of the dirt-covered curb lining the pathway in front of me, many branches, trees, and green leaves as her backdrop.

Certainly, before I can even get a handle on this breath of exuberance, fresh air, and lightheartedness, she is all of a sudden now climbing dexterously on the large grayish-black rocks behind me, performing and posing as her mother takes countless pictures of her.

When she has had enough of this particular game, though, she abruptly slides down the rocks on her butt, absent of any warning or trepidation.

To top it all off, she has company while doing all of these hijinks: namely, her backpack (on her back this entire time) in the shape of an owl, its big, brown eyes and bright orange feet jutting out…

Speaking of feet, those of the little girl exhibit lots of color and style: one purple tennis shoe (on her left foot) and one red patent leather dress shoe (on her right), adorned with a strap and a buckle.

Eventually, when her mother can succeed in doing so—the spirited child has continued to flit all about—she gently takes her daughter’s hand, and they happily proceed out of sight and down the lane together.

Pleased to have come into contact with them, and therefore smiling to myself, I turn my concentration back to my book, to an essay titled “New York Three Times” by Alexander Chee.

But I don’t get too far.

Believe it or not, another young girl grabs my attention as she joyfully hopscotches by me, with just as much vigor and liveliness as the first one. She has long, black hair, and she is very pretty. But what is unique about her is that she is wearing a full, ruffly, gauzy skirt of multiple, daring fluorescent colors, and she has countless rainbow-colored ribbons falling loosely through her hair.

She is singing, too, as if she is in a room all alone and no one can hear her.

In essence, she is there for an instant, and then gone, leaving a trail of magic dust and melody behind her.

In fact, I get the feeling that she has skipped through the park many times before, and many times prior to my finding this sanctuary in the park a few years ago…

That—somehow—she is simultaneously ancient and new.

And I wonder: Could she be a sprite of Central Park? And will she be forever young and playful, changing into the entity that the individual observing her needs at just that second?

With this thought, I read a bit more of Alexander Chee’s essay, and I can’t help but ponder the passage about living in New York that says, “And while sometimes the transformations I have been through here scare me to remember, that sense I had, of the way living among the oldest things turned me into who I became next—that is still true. It made me who I am; it will make me into who I become next.”

Shortly, I decide to leave my beloved haven, which is now in the shade, and head to the other side of the park so that I can find some sunshine. I’m definitely not ready to go home yet.

I discover a toasty spot on another bench with plenty of sunshine, and I relax there for a long time, relishing the heat on my skin, emotionally syncing with the movement of the rides in the nearby amusement park, and enjoying the calming music emanating from somewhere.

And then what does the universe grant me next?

There’s a teeny-tiny brown-haired toddler walking up to me and standing directly in front of me, and she’s smiling and smiling at me, and waving and waving at me, so intently focused on connecting with me that you would think that she and I are the only two people in the world right now.

But the more she waves at me, it is almost as if she is waving at herself, too, her palm often facing toward herself as she waves, her fingers curling inward.

At this moment, however, with our eyes locked, we are, in all reality, one and the same—aren’t we?

This exchange of energy and sweetness continues for a few minutes, and I am completely intrigued by her interest in me, as are her young, good-looking parents, who have been standing a few feet away admiring her.

“Yes, all you want to do is stop and stare at all of the people, don’t you?” the father says to her, as he, in due time, softly grasps her hand, smiles at me as well, and then leads her away.

I watch the couple and their child walk hand-in-hand toward the beautiful Gapstow Bridge, with a view of the lovely Plaza in the background, and then I sit there for a while longer, realizing that another little angel has crossed my path.

Indeed…

Three fortuitous interactions in Central Park with three delightful beings…

We should all allow ourselves to be so original and free.