Navigating around tourists planted in the middle of the sidewalk is annoying. They behave as if they have paid rent for the sidewalk – I-Pads arched upward or taking shots of one another. Men plying bus tours of Chinatown and Harlem peg me as a native and brush past to set upon the open-faced visitors.

I once was such a city person that my glare could freeze a person in place. The more mature me smiles in understanding when an apologizing stranger accidentally bumps me.

No longer in such a rush , I notice and feel a greater compassion for a sad-faced middle-aged homeless woman and her jacketed dog huddled on a dirty piece of cardboard against the black marble facade of a bank.

My feet sport sensible shoes over the vanity-driven fashion forward spike heeled needle-toed boots I used to favor. I am cautious. Even if it is 90 degrees, I carry a sweater or wrap. The sleek leather tote is replaced by a stubby crossbody stuffed with many necessaries. I can recite the location of clean restrooms.

Dicey falafel, hot dog and world fare vendors no longer benefit from my trade. I prefer to have a seated lunch at the Oyster Bar.

One thing has not changed, I revel in being among fellow humans of various shades. I take in the music of languages I do not speak. The hustle of naked women in paint, the Naked Cowboy and aggressive cartoon characters in Times Square amuse rather than offend me.

I am shameless in wandering among the colorful designer accessories and gleaming gold jewelry in Lord and Taylor. I have discarded old wish lists and am quite content to just browse.

I used to detest rainy days in the city. Now I stand in the rain enjoying the garish painted horses on the carousel in Bryant Park. It brings back nice memories of excursions with my children. I don’t bother to raise the umbrella.

 

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