Tag: Rockefeller center

New, naked and without your glitter

Did you ever sit at the window as a kid and watch the rain? Maybe you still do. 

It’s often thought to be quite morbid if you enjoy the rain; it’s cold, uncomfortable on your clothed skin and creates a dreary sky. This said, I couldn’t be happier than sitting in my small garden nook, with the shelter of the overhanging roof above me (just because I love the sight and smell does not mean I’m inviting the common cold to attack my body, I’m an adult don’t cha know!) The noise, the smell, the freshness of the rain is all too enticing. The smell of rain is a real thing, one I am happy to point out to anyone that laughs when I announce ‘I love a proper smelly rain’. It is called ‘Petrichor’ and it is the earthy scent when rain hits dry ground.

Just what is its draw? As like anything else that surrounds us, it’s old news; the sun shines, the wind howls, the rain comes and goes. But watching the rain has always felt very soothing to me. Changing the sight, smell and colour of the scenes we see everyday. 

One of the most precious memories of my first trip abroad, that being my first abroad without my parents, was splashing in the gigantic puddles around Rockefeller centre in Manhattan with my oldest school friend. I’ve visited this memory in a previous blog.

There have been other times since then, when I’ve found myself in the rain, walking, laughing, standing still with arms raised to the sky. Australia’s humid banana plantations. The Dominican Republic’s jungle paths. A small island in the Maldives caught in the tail of a passing typhoon (a wonderful honeymoon for sure!) And each time it’s been like the water has washed away this idea of glamour that a passport gives you, the sheath of perfection you wrapped the holiday up in, all of it washed away into puddles and becoming diluted until it fades away.

Travelling isn’t something to be glamorised into a big glittery, sequinned mess, it’s something stripped back and raw. New York isn’t meant to be pretty, it’s a working city, it is built on over 400 years of commerce and trade, the first settlers in the early 1600’s didn’t plan to create tourism, they saw money in the beaver skin trade and the potential of the harbour. They saw life, growth and the chance to survive. Buildings grew on the island, as the trees once did, not for the purpose to look down on the city but to house its commerce. The glitter arrived much much later. 

What we experience when the rain falls, is the glitter washing away. The money in your pocket becomes soggy, the expensive clothes on your back no longer protect and the make up runs off the tip of your nose. You are without money, without protection and without your mask. You are as vulnerable as the day you enter this world. You are new. Naked. Without your glitter. For a moment you are aware you are alive, you are awake to the sights around you and a whole wide World is Born.

Travelling to me is much like the rain, no pretence is needed among the people, landscapes and avenues you don’t know. You are new, naked and without your glitter.

Small but mighty

There is a man somewhere in the world today who once stopped by a window to look at my face. In my mouth was an orange segment. It had come with a dessert and as I had always done, I placed the segment between my teeth to get all the juicy flesh out. Whilst doing so I had glanced out of the window and two or three business men had walked past. They kept on their way until I realised they had reversed their path to check what they had seen. That snapshot moment made them laugh and me too. I was in New York for the first time celebrating my 18th birthday and  was having a luxury meal with a friend and some family. On an 18 year olds budget this meant it was more than a hot dog and can of cola. Luxury!

Later that night, we walked to Rockefeller centre to watch the ice skaters. I took the segment with me. Not long after arriving other tourists asked me to take a photo of them. Armed with my orange I readied the shot and said cheese. As they smiled, I smiled fully revealing the bright orange hidden mouthful. From memory I know that they displayed shock and laughter on their faces as I clicked the cameras button. I’d like to think I took another picture, a more normal one, so they ended up with the shot they asked for. And just like that, I gave them back the camera and they disappeared into the crowd. I spent the rest of the night watching the skaters.

Not too long after on the same trip the heavens opened and there was a huge downpour in the city. We were stuck in our hotel. At 18 years old, my friend and I felt an injustice at being kept from the city we had dreamed of visiting. So with little to no sense we jumped into a yellow taxi outside our hotel and went back to Rockefeller centre. The roads were slick with water and Rockefeller centre itself was flooded. The puddles were inches deep and we had on relatively thin clothing with no umbrellas. We spent the best part of 30 minutes jumping in puddles. The puddles aren’t any different in New York to London but it was freeing just to be doing something. There was a doorman outside one of the buildings, sheltered from the rain, watching us. I remember his black hat and formal clothing . The rain picked up and we squeezed into the doorway with him. His face told us we were crazy and I remember exactly how he looked at us.

Those three moments, however small and however fast they sped by, jump into my memories now and again. However insignificant they may seem, they remind me how those people affected my day and perhaps how in turn I affected theirs.

Occasionally, more often than I care to admit, I wonder what effect I have on this earth. Whether my life is passing by without anything I do making a difference. I wonder at the age of 33 whether I’ll ever do anything important.

Memories like those hold me together and remind me that if they are important to me maybe they are important to others. Are there three men out there that remember the girl with the orange smile? Is there a family that look through their holiday snaps and remember why the first photo at the Ice rink was not posed? Is there a doorman, now retired, that every time it rains thinks of the two crazy Essex girls with no coats, no umbrellas, running around in puddles?

We don’t know the impact we have on other people but we know how the small memories impact us, which may mean other people feel the same as well. It is all these memories that make up the bigger picture. The stitches of one big beautiful canvas. The canvas of your own life with an interwoven pattern of people that you meet daily, once, twice or fleetingly around the world.

Not every stitch will be beautiful. Not every pattern will stand out. However at the end when everything comes together it will make up one beautiful life. All those moments will have made something spectacular.