New York City

Every weekday morning I get off the subway and as I walk to my studio, I see a version of this (minus the large truck and woman carrying a newspaper) –

Seeing Manhattan in front of me as I walk to work fills me with optimism; anything seems possible.  It reminds me of that first evening when I flew into JFK Airport to attend Parsons School of Design.  After hailing a cab, all my belongings packed in the trunk, we drove toward Manhattan.  I looked at the city’s breathtakingly beautiful skyline and knew I was home.  That was in August of 1981.  I love New York City.  I love the buildings, I love the parks, I love the art, the museums, the theatre.  I love that on any given night one can see world class dance, music, performance or dine at some of the best restaurants in the world.  I love the diversity of New York, a city that draws people from all over the world.

When I am with Emma, my beautiful girl who gallops more than walks, her head down, her arms flailing about, no one pays attention.  I am grateful when we are in the subway and the doors close with the accompanying bell sound and Emma mimics that bell, but says “Dank you!” in the same tone and volume, most people don’t bother to look up.  They’re New Yorkers after all, far too busy to be concerned with the weird utterances of a child.

I love how the city is in a constant state of flux.  The view from our living room windows, once dominated by the World Trade Center towers, show an ever shifting skyline of downtown Manhattan, a constant reminder of how everything changes, whether we want it to or not.

For more on Emma’s journey through a childhood of autism, go to:   Emma’s Hope Book