The Big Island

I’ve spent very little time in Manhattan. As a lover of wilderness and a bit of an introvert, I’ve always been intimidated by the thought of a 34-square-mile island that’s home to 1.5 million people, which is approximately the same number of people who live in the entire state of New Mexico. Plus, I’m far more comfortable in ski boots than I am in stilettos. But the more I visit New York, the more I fall in love with its beautifully orchestrated chaos.

Last week when I was in the city to film a travel segment with Outside Television, the Kwanzan cherry trees were blooming in Central Park, daffodils and crocuses lined Park Avenue, and the Brooklyn Bridge sparkled under a crescent moon. I ate Indian, Turkish, Latin, Italian, Mexican and Latin-Indio food, saw Dawn Kasper’s Nomadic Studio Practice Experience at the Whitney Biennial, and bumped into a friend on the street who I hadn’t seen in years. He showed me a secret spot where we could slip through a window and watch people hustle like ants in Grand Central Station four stories below. The only missing element was the Frank Sinatra soundtrack. But even without the music I felt the magic and, instead of fearfully lingering around on the fringes, I finally let Manhattan pull me in.



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