New Year’s — One Way or Another

“If you can see your path laid out in front of you step by step, you know it’s not your path. Your own path you make with every step you take…”  Joseph Campbell.

Two years ago, I almost moved to New York City. I came to Boston from New Jersey in 1967 and never looked back — that is, until December 2015. The closing of 2017 brings back vividly the same time exactly two years ago when a series of circumstances presented a tempting opportunity.

My daughter was scheduled to return to her law firm in mid-town Manhattan after her maternity leave. From nanny-sharing to large corporate-run daycare centers, each choice for her child had its significant compromises. She finally reserved an available slot in a facility near her office, up an elevator to the second floor with a play area on an adjacent roof, surrounded by office towers blocking the sunlight.

She felt uneasy at the prospect of a rush hour commute on the crowded subway — but even more so with turning her son over to caretakers after five months of new motherhood. I recalled the stressful demands in my own life trying to balance work and family in the 70s and 80s. When she expressed serious doubts about available daycare arrangements, I offered, “Don’t worry sweetheart, set aside a corner for me in your apartment and I’ll be the nanny.”

I felt a sweet stirring of independence and freedom. It satisfied my nurturing instincts — and my sense of adventure — to drop everything at home to be there for the new family of three at a critical time.

I had drastically scaled down my law practice while caregiving for my husband and my mother. New family imperatives were compelling enough for me to close the door permanently on what was left of my forty-year career. I felt depleted of the energy needed to meet the demands and deadlines of a law practice — but I did feel joyous energy rising in me to love and care for my little grandson.

💜   🦄   💜   🦄   💜   🦄   💜

I made arrangements to take a “leave of absence” from my life north of Boston and become a temporary denizen of the Upper West Side, all in the service of bringing an actual “Grandma” into the daily life of my grandson — and the promise of a special time for both of us.

I put together a “package” for myself, with Central Park as my backyard, the 92nd Street Y for evening programs and courses, the patisserie around the corner for coffee breaks and brioche. With just a few modest adjustments in place, I could slip into a new routine — a subway pass, an exercise venue, a choice of synagogues for Friday night services.

It occurred to me that if I also found friendships and support here, I could fulfill a long-held fantasy — a year, or more, of living in New York City.

  🏙     🌆     🌃     🌇     🏙

I took my intended responsibilities seriously and investigated neighborhood resources: the Museum of Natural History, Central Park playgrounds, the St. Agnes branch library up the street with children’s readings and playtimes (e.g. “Young & Restless Story Hour”). I envisioned finding other grandparents taking care of grandchildren to form playgroups or go on outings. My daughter suggested meetup.com to either find or create an affinity group. “What’s meetup?” I replied.

With 2015 on the way out, my calendar cleared for the months ahead, my bags packed, I was about to book an open-ended Amtrak ticket to Penn Station.

A serendipitous sighting that changed my daughter’s plans — and mine — occurred on West End Avenue at the end of December. She walked past a corner brownstone under renovation and spotted a small sign in the window for a day care center opening. She inspected the premises (with windows on three sides and a protected outdoor play area), met with the director, texted photos to her husband, and wrote a check.

Then she called to tell me, ”Mom, I found a great place just in time, we’re all set!” and relinquished her deposit for the sunless mid-town location.

I was pleased that my offer to support the young family through an uncertain patch led to this happy result. Most importantly for me, I had envisioned my own path towards a new and meaningful endeavor, requiring availability, spontaneity, commitment, and an intriguing Boston/New York dual living arrangement — and I had moved on it decisively. This brought to the surface a flicker of acknowledgment that my journey had turned the corner, in the direction of growing, healing.

🌲   🌲   🌲   🌲   🌲

Settled back for the winter on Cape Ann, driving the Tundra pickup instead of pushing through public transit turnstiles, I figured that I could apply similar principles to chart the year ahead of me.

Now I looked forward, but to what? Another winter coming — and the last one had been especially brutal in New England. Yet, the abrupt change of plans accompanying the changeover of the calendar year presented challenges I felt ready to take on. I switched gears from the anticipation of an urban life and the anchor of caring for my little grandson to the prospect of a new year with a wide range of choices — a blank tablet.

Surprisingly, that felt okay. This was the first time ever that I did not have school, a job, or family responsibility to define my life.

In the spirit of new beginnings, I decided to make a New Year’s resolution or two, nothing heavy or transformative, just something life-affirming.

I resolved to reach back into my younger past and reclaim my love of learning for the arts, classics, and history. I joined the Salem Athenæum, a historic membership library offering visiting lecturers, early music concerts, author readings, discussion forums, even “Moth” story hours. I recalled my daughter’s suggestion of meetup.com and found a monthly literary discussion group led by a Salem State University professor.

🏛   📕   📙    📕   📗   📕   🏛

I looked forward to our first assignment, to read and compare Henry David Thoreau’s essay on Civil Disobedience with Dr. Martin Luther King’s Letter from Birmingham Jail. At my first meeting in January, I listened closely to the particularly thoughtful comments of one member of the group, a psychotherapist sitting across from me. I said in parting, “Nice to meet you David, hope to see you here next time.”

Keeping my New Year’s resolution, I attended in February; he did not. He showed up in March, the subject matter being four of Platos’s Dialogues. It was a tough read, but the level of discussion fulfilled my expectations. The group adjourned to an Italian restaurant, and after dinner, David invited me to stay for coffee.

My plans to relocate to New York City had not materialized, but I had brought home with me the information about meetups as recommended by my daughter. David had sprained his ankle but decided to go to a New Year’s Day hike nevertheless where he heard about the literary meetup group, stepping into the chain of events that led to our own meeting in January.

I head down to New York City often (see My Suitcase, Myself), watching the young family of three grow and change, as they are meant to do. Now my grandson is two and a half years old, with two special buddies — Geoffrey and Amir — who began day care with him in the charming brownstone.

Since then, I’ve built a life that no longer allows for a move at a moment’s notice — the moment that came and went. But, just knowing that I could, two years ago, restored my confidence and shocked me back to myself, the independent and adventurous young woman who lives inside of me still and powers the seventy-two year old that you see now.