Almost exactly a year after we left the city, The Husband and I boarded a plane last Wednesday to head back. The tax-deductible reason for the trip was a dental conference, but the majority of our itinerary reflected other pursuits. Duh. Who wants to sit in a hotel ballroom listening to lectures on teeth when you have Manhattan at your feet?
The Mom likes to get into New York cabs and give the driver a one-word direction: “Balthazar.” (Or Bartholomew’s, as she has called it.) “The Hilton.” (There are several.) “Chelsea.” (A neighborhood where, for years, she was convinced I lived. I never did.) I’ve explained to her that this, along with a Southern accent, makes her a target to be taken for a ride by some cabbies. So I told our driver, “Fifty-sixth between Sixth and Seventh,” and felt busted when he replied, “Parker Meridien?” Minus one for my street cred.
As we exited the FDR in midtown Manhattan, I gazed at all the people walking the familiar streets and wondered why so many people were awake and out at 9:30 pm on a Wednesday night. Oh, how the mighty have fallen. I felt positively un-suburban when TH and I, after dropping our luggage in our room, ventured back outside and headed to a nearby deli to stock up.
I spent a grand total of four hours in meetings. Thursday morning, I headed to the Sheraton and straight to my favorite row in the conference room–the back one. I ended up next to a Brooklyn dentist who talked my ear off but in a way that made me feel I had known her forever. For someone who feels one step away from social anxiety in situations like these–big rooms with hundreds of people, several of whom I would rather avoid–her presence was an addition to my gratitude list and just another way I felt taken care of in this great and terrifying city.
The same thing happened at the meeting the next day–a “coincidental” seat next to a like-minded female colleague–but not without some relaxation in between. The Parker Meridien (or Le Parker Meridien, if you’re nasty) boasts a rooftop pool and it was here that TH and I found ourselves every afternoon, congratulating ourselves on having lived multiple years in a city that we now felt no cultural obligation to in the form of museum visits or tourist stops. Just propping our feet up forty-two floors above street level and gazing down at Central Park was all we needed to feel ensconced in the Big Apple again. What we didn’t need was the toddler who shat in the pool and forced it to be evacuated for thirty minutes, but what can you do? Europeans.
Thursday morning we headed to Sarabeth’s for brunch and while we hoovered pancakes, omelets, and bacon, I used my eavesdropping skills (and aversion to Asian languages like the one being spoken on the other side of us–much love to all my Asian brothers and sisters but those who know me well know this is A Big Thing with me–why do they sound so harsh?) to listen in on a conversation between a Lebanese man and a Southern man a few feet away. Then I heard the words Gospel and church-planting and I thought I might pee myself just a bit. “I think that’s one of the Redeemer pastors,” I whispered to TH, jerking my head in the direction of the red-headed Southerner (score one for the gingers!). My palms got sweaty and my heart began to race because I knew I would have to practice one of the skills I picked up during my New York tenure–bravery–or risk regret over an opportunity missed. Sure enough, we had a lovely conversation with the two men, one of them indeed a Redeemer pastor. Jesus shows up just everywhere!
The rest of the weekend was a blur: reconnecting with friends over drinks, burgers, brunch, and cupcakes (thank you, AC, for the Buttercup fix), room-service sundaes and rented movies, tapas and more tapas, half-price pre-noon movie (Hangover 2, you were lame, sorry) with out-of-this-world bagels, walks through Gramercy Park, Union Square, and the West Village (destination: Magnolia Bakery), quality time with the Yankee ‘Rents. Any concerns I had about the trip (and there are always concerns–anxiety is a virtue next to cleanliness in my family) were allayed swiftly and kindly by the One who took me to that city in the first place, six years ago, when I had no idea of the world that awaited me. Dearest friends, ceaseless laughter, temporary tears, true love, deep faith. Appropriately enough, one of our last stops was the Redeemer West Side AM service, and when Tim walked out to preach, I turned to my friend and said it: “I’m just so excited!” There’s something about being told the truth–and knowing it’s written all over your story–that reminds you of how undeservingly well-regarded you are, how well-taken care of and provided for. And to see it all played out in a weekend? Blessings upon blessings.