February Newsletter

New York, Time of Anniversaries, and The Mending of the Ego

It’s fascinating how, even in one of the most roaring cities in the world, snow is the equalizer, the soft coat of white that makes everything quiet.

While in New York, earlier this month, I took an evening walk in the park as a gentle snow fell, for the firs time, since I had arrived in the city with Ben and Catherine. We were in town for Ben’s five-night residency at the Café Carlyle — a huge success for him, as he steps into a new, magnificent page of his musical career — but also an unexpected, humbling source inspiration for me.

The evening it snowed, I left Ben and Catherine at the corner of Madison and 76th, where the Hotel Carlyle was, and walked toward the park.

I grew up with snow, but I had forgotten how happy it made me.

I crossed 5th Avenue and walked into Central Park without knowing for how long I would proceed, and where I was headed. I felt strangely safe in the park; the sky was a hazy shade of deep blue — contrasting words, I know — the color made me think of Joan Didion’s description of the New York sky in her book Blue Nights, even though when I was in the park it was winter, not approaching and following the summer solstice, when the twilights turn long and blue.