I needed to get out of the house today—out of the neighborhood and out of the repetition. But these days, I don’t leave unless one of my containers is being filled. In this season of my life, I’ve been nurturing three delicate containers: financial, material, and relational. They’re all in motion right now, all recalibrating. It feels like I’m in my final month of energetic pregnancy, or, to use the metaphor that’s been carrying me this year, energetic menopause. My body has been moving through its own cycles of bliss, shakes, and withdrawals, followed by integration, refining language, and redefining how and when to share the insights that come through. Practicing discernment, basically.
So, I set out to walk around Manhattan; nothing strenuous, because my body feels like a live wire lately, sensitive and precise. I packed some fresh spring water and a few of my favorite peanut butter cookies, just in case I needed to ground myself. I call it rehearsing for reintegration back into society.
The ride to the city was smooth—the air crisp, the sun bright, and autumn doing exactly what autumn does best. As I walked through the streets, nostalgia washed over me, with flashes of my younger self from two decades of New York living: roaming the subways, laughing with old friends, being a student at NYU, hosting/ushering at the old Regal Theater in Times Square, which no longer exists. So much has changed, and so much is still changing.
Even now, with all the clarity I live in, there’s still so much that feels unfinished, or maybe that’s just my impatience with how slowly the field around me catches on. I thought about that as I transferred to the S train at Grand Central Station.
When the doors were closing, an older Black man jumped in. He had on a black backpack and a nice sweater vest. He stood near me, since it was now a standing-only cart. I didn’t make eye contact; I’ve realized that a single glance can open a conversation I might not have the capacity to hold. But somehow, as the train moved, we turned toward each other at the same moment.
He nodded. I nodded, giving silent acknowledgment. You know, two Black men sharing space, maybe camaraderie, maybe nothing more. He reached out for a fist bump, but I didn’t return it right away. Then, just as the train was stopping, he looked at me and said—without any context, without hesitation, “It’s all working out in your favor.”
That was it. I smiled and said, “Thank you.” Then, I returned the fist bump. The doors opened, and he disappeared into the crowd.
And I realized, right then, that’s why I needed to go to the city today. I didn’t need an outing. I needed a mirror, someone who didn’t need or want anything from me. Just a reflection of what I already knew, but maybe needed to hear in human form.
In the meantime and in between time, please be kind and gentle with yourself, as I do the same.
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