I spent a slow Sunday in Fort Tryon Park this week, which meant taking the A train nearly to the end of Manhattan, past all the stops I usually get off at, until the city thins out and gets green.
Most people I know never make it that far uptown. They act like Manhattan stops at 96th. But if you ride the A up to 190th and walk out into Fort Tryon, you get one of the best views of the Hudson in the whole city, and half the crowds.
A slow Sunday in Fort Tryon Park is my reset button when downtown gets to be too much. And this week it was too much.
The leaves are just barely starting to turn up there, ahead of the rest of the island because it's higher and cooler. I found a bench near the heather garden and just sat. No phone, mostly. Some old men playing cards nearby, speaking a language I couldn't place, laughing at the same joke over and over.
I'd packed a lunch like a functional adult — leftover dal, some rice, a spoon I definitely stole from work. Ate it looking at the river and the Jersey cliffs across the water.
There's a stillness that far uptown that you cannot find anywhere below Harlem. The subway announcements fade. You can hear actual birds. It felt almost rude, how peaceful it was.
I thought about how I moved to this city for its noise, its speed, its everything-at-once. And how the older I get here, the more I chase its edges instead. The quiet ends of the train lines.
A family walked by with a toddler in full meltdown mode, and honestly, relatable.
By the time I took the A back down, I felt like I'd been on vacation. A whole reset for the price of a subway swipe.
Go further uptown than you think you need to. The city's still up there.
Love,