Nature is Nurture
Living in the big city is thrilling, but for this gal, the only way to stay sane is in the park.
I was on a plane the other day (just for something new) when I came across a Washington Post article called, “Why birds and their songs are good for our mental health.” The plane was making plane noises, so I popped in my AirPods and hit a play-the-birdsong button in each section: a Meadowlark, a Warbler, a Bobolink (never heard of the wee guy, but goodness he was cheery), a Woodpecker (oddly without the wood pecking part, but still charming). The whole thing was delightful, and I felt my shoulders drop when I listened to each bird’s little ditty. The piece achieved its intention, and I chilled right out.
We live on the Upper West Side of Manhattan, and we live up here for a reason. We can hear the birds. Sure, we can hear the sirens too, but honestly, birds outnumber those. I’ve lived all over Manhattan (no knock on Brooklyn, but it’s too sceney and there’s just that… bridge), and mostly in places where people in the fashion business wouldn’t expect: Beekman Place, the Upper East Side. (I only lived in an “on-brand” neighborhood, the West Village, for a couple years over a decade ago). I love walking down the street, surrounded by trees, and not running into a single person from the biz. I have a few performing friends who live in the much posher buildings on Central Park West, but that’s it. My ideal run-in is a dog walker with eight to 10 dogs - a miracle of temperament and coordination!
You know when you’re younger and you want to just be in all the cool places, all the time? (That was the general reason why I left Australia for NYC, which is rather extreme when you think about it). It’s fun for a while - years, even - but in the end, it’s not particularly enriching. Man, when I was younger, I would finish work at 6, meet someone for drinks at 6.30 and then dinner at 8.30. On like, the Lower East Side. WTF?
I’m so glad I’ve grown out of - or tired out of - that. I have an actor friend, a Mr Downtown if you will, who told me, upon hearing that I lived on the UWS, “Geez, bring a book!” I don’t bring a book – maybe I should? – but I love nothing more than coming back from dinner downtown (there are motor vehicles and also trains under the ground that can transport you!) and feeling the noise recede, enveloped by the damp smell of the trees as I cross Central Park at night, then running up my brownstone stairs and disappearing, like a bunny into a hutch.
Central Park, my God. What prescience its creators had, all the way back in 1858. It’s like a green, 843 acre shrink. We live 20 seconds away from it and every time I walk in there with my husband Brandon, I say, “We live in a movie.” I still can’t believe it. I’ve been here 22 years and the squirrels bouncing around everywhere still spin me out (I told you, it’s a movie).
We typically walk in at 72nd St and through Strawberry Fields, where a reliably average singer of Beatles tunes serenades a crowd that expands and shrinks like an accordion (which thankfully, said singer is not working into ‘Imagine’). My typical walk is the lower loop to Central Park South and back up to the bridle path surrounding the Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis Reservoir. (It’s a hell of a lot calmer than the reservoir path, where hardy joggers beat on against the current of tourists). The route is a neat five miles and you can finish it in an hour flat if you really hoof it.
If I’m feeling particularly hardy, I’ll do the whole Central Park loop. 6.1 miles. What I love seeing, as I circumnavigate the park, are the different demographics coming and going. International tourists (so many French people! Did they get a deal?) wobbling on bikes coming in from 59th St, well-preserved ladies in expensive leggings from the east side. Further north, the paths grow wider, less touristy and more diverse: there are baseball games and picnics and kiddies in prams everywhere. I can’t wait until the construction of the new Harlem Meer, with a new pool, boardwalk and park is complete next year. The park is magic: it’s the most welcoming, democratic place in New York.
And you know what, the rats don’t even bother me – I was walking across the park from the east side early one evening a while ago when a sturdy fella popped out from a bush and scuttled alongside me for a good half minute, before taking a right. I mean hell, we’re all commuters.
I don’t think I could do what I do (the traveling, connecting, hosting, representing etc), if I didn’t live up here, with the birds and the dogs and the leaves and Flaco the escaped zoo owl (which my husband Brandon can track like, well, a birder) living his best life, hidden by foliage, in the North Woods.
I need to hear the birds.
I’m curious, where do you guys go, or live, that calms you? Where do you “hear the birds”? Let me know below. Am pretty sure it will be soothing for everyone. Especially because it’s Monday.
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