I went to New York for work the first week in November. I had a really very nice and good time.
On my last morning in Manhattan, before my afternoon flight back to San Francisco, I went for a run in Central Park. I thought to myself finally I am strong enough and "a runner" who can enjoy such an outing. The setting was truly lovely with all the trees shedding autumn leaves and the quiet... I heard some music playing aways from me, it was by Stan Getz. I ran towards the brass music and discovered it was a saxophone player playing near a sort of fountain grotto. He was fantastic. Just what I'd been hoping to hear all week. I stopped my run to sit indian style on one of the many benches and clap for him as he finished each song. Several people walked, skated or strolled by and seemed to enjoy his tunes. He had lived in San Francisco for some time but came to New York and fell in love with it; and I told him that I tried to live in New York once but I could live without it. He and I talked as we tried to name a song we could agree on for him to play until it was time to go. He knew the songs I requested, "Do Nothing 'Til You Hear From Me", "Do You Know What It Means...?", "La Vie En Rose"... but didn't feel confident enough to play any of them. So after I told him I had to leave, he played one more song for me, his choice, it was another Stan Getz arrangement. And in that beautiful moment, to realize where I was, in this place, in my day, in my life's journey, relative to where i've been and not knowing where it's all going... it moved me to cry. In a bittersweet and good way. It was quite cathartic to then run away out of the park, pack my bags and go "home" to California, where I live now. I say "where I live now" because it is still funny to fly towards the West Coast and that be home. But it won't always be.
Photo taken in Tarrytown, New York of the train headed towards New York City with the Hudson River and the Tappan Zee bridge in the background.
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