“The most precious gift we can offer others is our presence. When mindfulness embraces those we love, they will bloom like flowers.”
– Thich Nhat Hanh
Recently, my 88 year-old friend and I took a walk on the Upper West Side of Manhattan. We’ve taken several walks together over the years so, when we set off, I didn’t expect it to be a meaningful one.
The walk began with an unusual choice for 2022: I did not bring my phone with me. I left it in her apartment, grateful not to be tethered to it for thirty minutes.
We ran a few errands first… the ATM, the quick purchase of a winter hat. Then she said, “Let’s go this way,” and we headed west on 72nd Street.
A shop window with a display of dusty books and records caught my eye. “I haven’t been in there in years,” she said. “Shall we?” I offered her my arm and we climbed the crooked steps up to the heavy metal door.
The shop was narrow and cramped, like so many Manhattan establishments. All the records, books, and postcards on the shelves were aged with nostalgia. It felt like we had left the 21st century behind us on the sidewalk.
My friend, a lifelong actress, gravitated toward the tall shelf marked THEATRE. She ran her hand along the row of old plays and sighed. I had this urge to take her photo just then and kicked myself for not having my phone with me.
She picked a play off the shelf and told me a story about the cast members (in the 1940s, I think) having to dye their hair red. “We could always spot those actors on the subway,” she said with a grin. She pointed to another play and told me about a troubled actor getting fired from that first production.
Then I chose a play from the shelf, knowing I’d find her name listed in the front as an original cast member. “There you are,” I said. “Oh. That was a fun one,” was her response.
We chatted with the bookstore owner about the history of the place then we returned to our 72nd Street stroll.
My friend said, “Let’s go see Eleanor,” and we proceeded west.
By the time we arrived at the Eleanor Roosevelt statue in Riverside Park, I was almost in tears, regretting that I’d left my phone behind. The urge to take photos of my friend with the backdrop of her marvelous hometown, to capture those moments, was intense.
And then, suddenly, the urge was gone. I felt a wave of gratitude that I had no phone or photo-taking device to distract me. I became aware that I was capturing the moment by simply being present with this dear person.
At the base of the statue, we had a conversation about Mrs. Roosevelt, newly a First Lady at the time my friend was born. Then we sat on a bench and did some good old-fashioned people watching.
On the way back to her apartment, she and I discussed her upcoming move to an assisted living home in California. “People die there,” she said rather matter-of-factly. Then she listed some people she’d known and loved who had died. I could tell that she was thinking about specific moments with each of them. Moments captured by her presence with them, not by any photograph.
I wonder, had I taken my phone with me that day, if I would’ve remembered that walk with her as well as I do.
Have you, with no photographic evidence, captured any moments lately?
So beautiful!