By: Jenna Wigman
At least several times a week, a concerned party on the other end of a Zoom meeting asks with a grim tone, “Oh you’re in New York City… how are things there?” While I’ve gotten used to the inquiry–which undoubtedly comes from a well meaning place–it still shocks me, as the very notion of the city’s demise is an odd juxtaposition with my daily experience since my return back East.
As swirling uncertainties swept the globe in March, I saw the rapidly changing world from the lens of Manhattan, finding grocery stores suddenly unstocked and subway cars empty. Unsure of what would develop in what was growing to be the U.S. epicenter of the pandemic (did I even really understand what that meant at the time?), and lucky to have the opportunity to temporarily relocate to a more remote location, I unexpectedly returned to my West Coast identity, hunkering down in rural Santa Ynez Valley, California. As the weeks rapidly turned into months, I quickly shed my urbanite inclinations of packed schedules, exciting plans and new, interesting people, and happily traded them in for fresh air, animals freely roaming fields, and a simple daily routine.
When I came back to NYC in August, I was ironically fleeing yet again from a “hot spot,” with California’s numbers steadily climbing and reopening measures moving backwards. As excited as I was to go back home, I was also still a bit trepidacious. Was everyone wearing masks and social distancing? Were most of the businesses closing? Was the outdoor dining thing really taking off? Did people still have an aggressive vendetta against runners?!?
Now subject to a 14-day quarantine upon arrival, I was drooling out of the windows (luckily, they were plentiful) of a cozy one bedroom apartment in Kips Bay, desperate for the freedom that I had always taken for granted. Always an avid people watcher, I found myself gazing at even the most mundane of activities from the 30 sq foot balcony on the 19th floor. People getting in their outdoor HIIT workouts on neighboring rooftops and eating their Sweetgreen in the park was now a primetime viewing bonanza. After the two weeks passed, I had actually gotten used to the convenience of grocery delivery but was salivating for some outdoor movement.
Making my first pilgrimage back to Central Park after my return, I was worried that a place that was once my sanctuary would now be filled with fear, uncertainty and stress. But as I made my way back through the gate at 86th and 5th, I was home. The park was filled with people with genuine appreciation for the ability to get out and move their bodies in fresh air. Extending beyond the park, I quickly saw that mask compliance was impressive, business safety measures were buttoned up and enforced and, most importantly, the city was bustling with the collective energy born from a shared experience of disconnection. Restaurants were spilling onto the streets, with utterly creative setups boasting twinkling garden lights hanging in contrast with the busy bike lanes moving across the city. People were out and about safely, with a new sense of appreciation for the unique charm and honesty the city brings even in times of anguish.
No longer filling my days with plays, industry events, happy hours and team runs, I found myself exploring the city in ways that I hadn’t before. Now that I wasn’t taking the subway as the most efficient means of transportation, I was seeing the city more than ever by foot and by bike (new Citibike member here, hey!). Taking in the 9/11 Memorial or a breezy view of the Statue of Liberty before logging in for the day is now as fulfilling for me as my overscheduled days of the past may have felt at the time. The connective tissue of New York City is not dependent on the bustle and action that it’s become known for, but the kaleidoscope of people from all walks of life bringing the real energy that keeps the city going. The city warriors that get out for their 12-hour nurse shift at the hospital or the masked outdoor group fitness classes, or restauranteurs offering wine selections on the sidewalk of their Michelin star cafes — all bring back a sense of unity within the city that is actually reassuring and motivating at a time when we need it most.
Having left NYC during the most trying of months, I’m nowhere near as mega-resiliant as tough New Yorkers I see on the streets every day, donning a mask and being respectful of others. Still, I feel proud to be back amongst them. This city has been through some of its most taxing times, and those that have resolutely held on to the metropolis that has been entwined with their identity for so long have fought to keep The City That Never Sleeps thriving even when bedtime is earlier than ever. Now that everyone has been given the opportunity to experience Hamilton, I can say that “the greatest city in the world” claim holds up for those who keep their eyes open to the beauty that can be seen when we’re not all too busy trying to get to the next place.
