For Melissa

I doubt there is a woman out there who has not been shunned, let down, or deserted by a man. These times are undoubtedly hard; tears, feelings of self doubt and hours spent moping under a duvet inevitably ensue. However, what amazes me about the women in these awful situations is, not their frailty but rather, the fervor and resilience that, more often than not, runs in tandem with their searing heartbreak.
The forsaken woman is something of an enigma. She manages to exude both strength and fragility at the same time. We have all been there: that place in which we feel so low that there is nothing else for it but to pick ourselves up and battle on; to convert the heartbreak into something useful, the anger into a gainful passion. For many this passion can lead to a time of excitement and self discovery.
My dear friend Dotty P has managed to capture this multi-faceted emotional state quite sublimely here:

Now At Liberty Little white love, your way you've taken; Now I am left alone, alone. Little white love, my heart's forsaken. (Whom shall I get by telephone?) Well do I know there's no returning; Once you go out, it's done, it's done. All of my days are gray with yearning. (Nevertheless, a girl needs fun.) Little white love, perplexed and weary, Sadly your banner fluttered down. Sullen the days, and dreary, dreary. (Which of the boys is still in town?) Radiant and sure, you came a-flying; Puzzled, you left on lagging feet. Slow in my breast, my heart is dying. (Nevertheless, a girl must eat.) Little white love, I hailed you gladly; Now I must wave you out of sight. Ah, but you used me badly, badly. (Who'd like to take me out tonight?) All of the blundering words I've spoken, Little white love, forgive, forgive. Once you went out, my heart fell, broken. (Nevertheless, a girl must live.) Dorothy Parker

Dancing in the Street

Colum McCann has managed to put into words exactly what I tried to at the start of my previous post, Shoulder Rubbing (and with much more success). What I love most about the Big City Experience is the way in which your life can collide with a stranger's for only a brief moment and yet be changed irrevocably. This extract describes one such incident and is from a gorgeous little book entitled My First New York: Early Adventures in the Big City {as remembered by actors, artists, athletes, chefs, comedians, filmmakers, mayors, models, moguls, porn stars, rockers, writers, and others}, which I picked up on my recent visit to the city. I love that it is written by a fellow Irishman and that he too fell in love with Big City Life during his 2nd time there. It is just too beautiful not to share:

"But I truly fell in love with the city many years later, in the early 1990s, on my second stint, when I wasn't quite sure if I was meant to be here at all, and it was a quiet moment that did it for me, one of those little glancing shoulder-rubs that New York can deal out at any time of the day, in any season, in any weather, in any place - even on the fiercely unfashionable Upper East Side.
It had snowed in the city. Two feet of it over the course of the night. It was the sort of snow that made the city temporarily magical, before all the horn-blowing and slush puddles and piles of dog crap crowning the melt.
A very thin little path had been cleared on Eighty-second Street between Lexington and Third, just wide enough for two able-bodied people to squeeze through. The snow was piled high on either side. A small canyon, really, in the middle of the footpath. On the street - a quiet street at the best of times, if anything can be quiet in New York - the cars were buried under drifts. The telegraph wires sagged. The underside of tree branches appeared like brush-strokes on the air. Nothing moved. The brownstones looked small against so much white. In the distance sounded a siren, but that was all, making the silence more complete.
I saw her from a distance halfway down the block. She was already bent into the day. She wore a headscarf. Her coat was old enough to have once been fashionable. She was pushing along a silver frame. Her walk was crude, slow, laborious. With her frame, she took the whole width of the alley. There was no space pass her.
There is always a part of New York that must keep moving - as if breath itself depends on being frantic, hectic, overwhelmed. I thought to myself that I should just clamber over the snowbank and walk down the other side of the street. But I waited and watched. Snow still fell on the shoveled walkway. Her silver frame slipped and slid. She looked up, caught my eye, gazed down again. There was the quality of the immigrant about her: something dutiful, sad, brave. A certain saudade, a longing for another place.
As she got closer, I noticed her gloves were beautifully stenciled with little jewels. Her headscarf was pulled tight around her lined face. She shoved the silver frame over a small ridge of ice, walked the final few feet, and stopped in front of me.
The silence of strangers.
But then she leaned forward and said in a whisper: "Shall we dance?"
She took off one glove and reached her hand out, and with the silver frame between us, we met on the pavement. Then she let go of my hand. I bent to one knee and bowed slightly to her. She grinned and put her glove back on, said nothing more, took a hold of her silver frame and moved on, a little quicker now, along the corridor of snow and around the corner.
I knew nothing of her, nothing at all, and yet she had made the day unforgettable.
She was my New York.
Still is."

Shoulder Rubbing

What makes the Big City Experience so special is, not the overall, and sometimes overwhelming, noisy picture, but instead, the hundreds of tiny little personal moments between strangers that make up the days. These are the brush strokes that build up on the canvas to complete the portrait; the fingertip brushes and smiles from the eyes that leave their mark and find you walking away from coffee stands and newspaper sellers with a giggle and a grin.

Having recently returned from a trip to NYC I have been pondering just what this lovely, ugly city is to me.

New York is the rats on the Subway, papaya and hotdogs with Saurkraut and mustard from Gray's, ice cold and extremely sweet lemon Snapple, persistant palm readers at Columbus Circle, Lennon fans jamming at Strawberry Fields, twirling House loving rollerbladers and sweaty joggers in Central Park, an endless stream of buggies at the Children's Zoo, friendly NYPDers telling me I look lost (I wasn't - just spoilt for choice on where to go and what to do in this urban paradise), the female officer who wanted to come shopping with me(!), surprise Chinese massages at a Greenwich Village street fair, breathtaking window displays at Bergdof Goodman, Patience and Fortitude, the fabulous French woman who gives the free tours at the Public Library (her accent is still just as strong after 45 years in the city and her voice a little too loud for libraries...), electric pencil sharpeners cutting through the silence of the reading room, elderly couples sunbathing in Bryant Park, annoyingly attractive cyclers, oh so beautful farmboys selling pumpkins at the Union Square Greenmarkets, iced lattes in the sun, the smell of honey roasted nuts at street corners, yummy frosted cupcakes, strong coffee, stacks of bacon and banana pancakes, 'please help me' signs, decadent Grand Central Station and www.bootothemta.com, yummy mummies posing on 5th Ave, Hell's Kitchen for a sneaky Thai lunch at Room Service and their YUMMY Thai Iced Tea, Greek feasts in Astoria, hunting for Brooklyn tattoo parlours, falling in love with Meg Ryan and Fall whilst watching You've Got Mail and When Harry Met Sally, Vanilla and Cinnamon & Orange at Bigelows, 18 miles of books at the Strand, squinting your eyes against the Times Square glare, Tiki bars with blow fish and Floridians, dancing in the rain, black squirrels at City Hall, palm trees in the snow, picking up gorgeous furniture in the street, bizarrely pretty fire engines (are they safe?!) and their even more beautiful inhabitants, Candy Corn, Candy Corn, Candy Corn, Vintage, Vintage, Vintage (Thrift, Thrift, Thrift), Yoko Ono's Wish Tree at MOMA, the new versus the old at Seaport and St. Paul's pumpkin ale...

New York is whatever you want it to be; an endless adventure of discovery and NEVER being bored.