From Park Avenue to the Berkshires
I skipped last Monday’s post. Maybe it was all the running around New York last week or maybe life just got busy, but I am back, coffee in hand, trying to find my rhythm again. New York never waits. One week you are eating bagels on Park Avenue, the next you are back in the Berkshires catching your breath before heading right back again.
Last week was a blur in the best way. I started out in my grandparents’ apartment on 89th and Park. There is something comforting about being there again. The place has its quirks and is not accessible, sure, but it always feels like home. I have my own little setup that works just fine, pee jar and all, and there is something kind of funny about the routine. The apartment is full of family photos and old items that have been around for ages, giving it real character. I spent one summer living there years ago, and every visit reminds me how much life that space holds. The framed puzzles on the wall and the photos that never change always make me feel grounded.
Midweek I met someone I had been talking to on Hinge. She had a beautiful olive skin tone and an effortless sense of style. She wore a leather jacket with small jeweled details that caught the streetlights in all the right ways. She sometimes got shy about her accent, but I told her it gave her character and that I just sounded very white and American in comparison. She laughed, and from there the conversation flowed. She saw past my disability right away, which made the night feel light. We raced my wheelchair alongside bikers and joggers in Central Park, both of us laughing like we were the only two people there. At one point she hung her bag off the back of my chair so I could literally take her load off. It was a small gesture that said a lot about trust, the kind that sneaks up on you when you are not trying too hard. When the night ended, she walked me to my Lyft and waited until it arrived. We did not overdo it, just a smile and a knowing see you soon.
The next morning I met a potential caretaker candidate at Variety Coffee on 85th and Lexington. She was recently divorced, around my mom’s age, looking for something that would let her give back while shaking up her life a little. Over a strong cup of coffee, I talked her through the role and what a typical day looks like. At this point I have my hiring process down to a science. We clicked instantly, and she might join my caretaker team once I am fully settled back in the city.
Friday brought something different. I met up with an AEPi alumni brother I had connected with on Facebook. We talked about his work at the United Nations and how I could get involved with their disability working group that meets once a month. I was immediately in. We met at Tal Bagels near my grandparents’ apartment. I went for a pastrami and melted Swiss on a sesame bagel with a pickle on the side. He went with matzo ball soup. The place had that classic Jewish deli charm, noisy, familiar, unapologetically New York. I have been going there since I was a kid, always leaving with a full stomach and a story.
Later that night I went on another Hinge date with someone new. She had only been in the United States for less than a year and was still learning English, so most of our conversation happened through her phone’s translator app. Even so, we managed plenty of laughs in between. She wore a denim style dress and draped her jacket over my shoulders when I got cold during our walk, a small and very cute gesture. The chemistry was not quite electric, but the spark was there, and good conversation in any language never hurts.
That night, the woman from earlier in the week and I ordered Chinese takeout and ate in my grandparents’ kitchen. She asked about my job hunt in healthcare, and I told her about a few interviews I was excited for. When I mentioned I was still apartment hunting, she smiled and said she would come on some tours with me. She told me that in her culture it is common to live with family while getting started, which made me feel a little better about staying with my grandparents in the meantime. She used to run a small shop in the city that drew in all kinds of people, and I could tell she carried that same warmth in every conversation.
At one point she offered to help transfer me out of my chair and onto the couch. That might sound small, but it is a big deal. Most women I have gone on dates with hesitate to even bring it up, worried they will do it wrong or cross a line. She did not hesitate. She just said, I have got you, and meant it. She lifted and balanced me onto this tiny one seater couch, and I could not help thinking that if it were just a little wider, I would have had the perfect excuse to pull her closer. I should have said something, maybe teased her with a line like, We might need a bigger couch for this kind of chemistry. Instead, I smiled, sat there quietly, and let the moment hang. The air between us had that soft, charged feeling, the kind where silence says more than words.
By the weekend I was back in the Berkshires after a quick trade show detour in Kingston. Roxy greeted me like I had been gone for a year. I prepped for a big interview, got some rest, and made my way back to the city a few days later. The interview went well, and now I am hoping for a second round. I am back in New York again, bouncing between apartment tours, bagel runs, and quiet museum afternoons. The city feels alive in that fall way, and I am reminded why it keeps pulling me back no matter where I start from. Here is to new beginnings and a few good bagels along the way.
As always, details are changed for privacy, but the moments are true.
