Imagine!

I visited New York City in September 2018 for many reasons: to enjoy a play, to attend a fundraiser, to meet up with a lifelong friend, and to refresh, reinspire, and renew my writing spirit. I snatched this writing hiatus with great enthusiasm. I strolled (or hiked with less intensity) into Central Park, vowing to find moments of joy, moments of the creative life. I hit the jackpot.

As I entered the gates at 5^th Ave and 59^th Streets, I was amazed, as I am each time I visit, at the size of Central Park! The multitude of paths to follow, hills to traverse, nooks to nestle, people to watch. So many possibilities. And so green, so quiet, a morsel of bliss buffered from the honking and chaos loitering at its edges. I picked a path and forged ahead.

Five minutes into my excursion, I found a drummer. Not just any drummer. Not an upside-down paint can, sidewalk drummer (although I love those, too!) This guy had assembled a full drum set in front of a statue at a heavily trafficked intersection of pathways and was having a ball. I can’t decide if he succeeded at amusing the crowd or himself the most. The crowd responded to that joy with their attention and their dollar bills. His performance was authentic and came from a place labeled “I got this. And it’s a blast.” So inspiring.

I continued on around the corner to find children chasing expansive, multi-colored bubbles that floated just above their heads, out of their reach, until – pop – they succeeded in their reach. And, then tried again with another, oblivious to joy they created for the observers, the ones marred by crows-feet and less reach. One such observer was a woman with an easel and a paintbrush. She’d captured their vibrancy on canvas so effortlessly.

I wandered into the Imagine Circle where I found a skull-capped man singing John Lennon’s words. When his friend joined in with a gruff but pleasing voice, I drifted into their music and these momentary friendships with strangers around a circle and a song. How easy, how wonderful. A grayed woman, leaning down into the circle to pose for a photo, struggled against her protesting knees and said “I imagine this is as far as I can get!” Everyone laughed. But we all sympathized with her predicament.

Funny as it was, that woman’s struggle to lean into the Imagine circle struck me. How many times had these artists said something similar to themselves? This is as far as I can go. And how many times had they pressed on anyway? As I was surrounded by song and beauty, I imagined how much hard work these artistic moments cost. These flashes of joy hid years of practice, dreaming, and searching for inspiration. Before sharing their talents with the wanderers in Central Park, these artists practiced for the sheer pleasure, or angst, of it all. Whether the drummer entertaining, the illustrator drawing, the singers strumming and crooning, it was their years of struggle, their dedication to their craft that had made it all possible. They leaned in to imagine something beautiful and they kept pushing. This invisible struggle tucks in behind their smiles, buries deep into their empty pocketbooks, or shows in the practice time in their modest apartment hoisted above the din of the street noise, but always the struggle. As they imagine what success will look like, what form it will take, when it will happen, and whether it will happen at all, they fight off self-doubt with the joy that now surrounds them.

The artist’s life. Imagining takes a lot of devotion and time and battling the bays of uncertainty, and yet (almost) always takes joy along for a ride—or a stroll.