I was in New York City last week and I had one of those good experiences that unexpectedly turn into great experiences. I hadn’t been in New York since I was a kid, and I had this urge to walk around town – to just be there. My hotel was in mid-town Manhattan, and on the first day I set out on foot and covered a lot of territory from East to West, from the 70’s to the 30’s. Eventually I had to get back to the hotel because I had plans for the evening. But if I hadn’t, I would have felt like Eliza Doolittle: I could have walked all night and still have begged for more.
Of all the sights I saw, there was one very specific thing I was looking for, and I had no idea where to find it. I wanted what might be called the “Movie New York” experience, where you’re just THERE, walking down A STREET IN NEW YORK, like Cary Grant or Jerry Seinfeld or Al Pacino or Gene Hackman or Dustin Hoffman. (Oh, how I wanted a taxi to cut me off so I could pound on the hood and shout, “I’m walkin’ here!” But the drivers today are far too professional for that.)
So I set off in search of Generic New York. I started on East 44th Street, and walked from Second Avenue to Third Avenue, on to Lexington, Park, Madison, and then Fifth Avenue. I figured Fifth Avenue would be the place to find it. After all – it’s Fifth Avenue, right? If that ain’t New York, what is? I’d even written in my notes for the trip. Between Empire State Building and Brooklyn Bridge, I’d written, “Just walk down Fifth Avenue.”
But no, it wasn’t there either. I couldn’t find it. I was too pumped up – too in the moment. Nothing was generic New York because everything was immediate New York! It was real, it was loud, it was here and now and in your face. It was like Cary Grant never existed!
Eventually I got distracted by how wonderful it all was. I walked by Grand Central Terminal and remembered that the giant main concourse was on my must-see list. So I went inside and walked down a long, wide, underground corridor. Then I turned and walked down another long, wide, underground corridor. Where was the concourse? Everywhere I looked there were signs for trains, and billboards for gin, and little newsstands, but no concourse. Eventually I gave up and came up for air. I figured I’d find it later, or maybe it wasn’t even there anymore. I can never keep track of what they’ve torn down in New York anyway. Isn’t that part of the charm?
So I went up a long escalator and out a door onto the busy street, and suddenly, there it was!
Generic New York!
Honking and roaring and pushing all around me! I spun around and laughed, and looked up at the buildings, and soaked it all in. And I realized what had happened – I’d gotten completely disoriented in the terminal, so when I came back outside I had no idea where I was, how far I’d walked underground, or even which direction was uptown or downtown. And that was the key to Generic New York: if you’re going to be disconnected in time, you have to be disconnected in place as well. You have to be dropped into the middle of town and not know where you are. It will never be generic if you remember that your hotel is six blocks behind you, or you just walked out of FAO Schwartz, or you’re strolling through Times Square, or if you know you’re on Park Avenue headed uptown.
You have to be lost. You have to come up from underground and see nothing but buildings, taxis, buses, lights, hot dog vendors, and eight million people who know where they’re going, each of whom only emphasizes the fact that you don’t.
They’re always telling us to be in the moment. But before you can be in the moment, you have to somehow get lost, get away from time and place, and away from everything you know. I had to lose New York before I could find it.
My week in New York was everything I wanted it to be: busy, exciting, noisy, exhausting, stimulating, funny, thrilling, and profound. But with everything I saw and did there, that one “lost” moment – which only lasted a moment! – was as unique and memorable as the best jazz or the loudest standing ovation or the brightest skyline. For one moment, it wasn’t just my New York. It was the New York.
And it made me wonder: what if that experience wasn’t unique to Manhattan? What if you could do it anywhere, any time? Imagine! On any given day, you duck out of the street somewhere, walk around in a strange place until you’ve lost your bearings, and when come out again, that same old familiar block suddenly feels alive, honking, roaring, pushing, and moving about its business.
Because suddenly you’re not just experiencing your own life – but life itself.