It feels cliché to say that time and places can be recursive, particularly in New York, where its residents tend to develop habitual haunts. Yet, while the physical location remains the same, all else is in flux. As you grow, you become different, and places acquire different meanings.
Prior to moving to New York in 1992, my mom took me and my sister for a month long visit; on a practical side, she needed to sort out all the logistics of moving, but I am sure she also wanted to acclimate us to a whole new city. We hardly spoke the language, and Hong Kong, though a close rival in population density, was much smaller to navigate. I was around six years old at the time, and happy to explore as a tourist.
She took us to the Metropolitan Museum, where everything was storied and historic: dusty Egyptian mummies, figurative paintings from the Renaissance, gleaming armor that extended to even the horses. As with any trip with young children, she concluded the tour with a mandatory stop at the gift shop, where we were allowed to pick out one item. I forget what my sister bought, but I was enamored with a print of the Flatiron Building (Several years later, I would find out that the image was painted by Samuel Halpert.) Thinking back, I am not sure why I picked a picture of a building, as a piece of paper should seem somewhat unappealing to a six year old. I suppose I liked the unusual shape of the building, a near impossibility that felt just as uncommon as moving halfway across the globe.
My family settled for a bit at my grandmother’s apartment in Manhattan, and then eventually in Staten island. The Flatiron Building and I drifted, each progressing on its own accord. It cropped up in the background of my life; my wife (then girlfriend) would work nearby in 2006. She worked long hours, and sometimes I would wait near the Flatiron until it was time for us to head home by cab. At other times, it featured more prominently – 25 years later, my wife and I sublet an apartment on 23rd street for a few summers as the suburban doldrums got to us. In that brief time, I enjoyed the neighborhood and its vibrancy; to be able to lounge in the plaza in front of the building and people watch was a weekend morning treat.
I still do not fully comprehend why I picked out that print of an unknown building in a city I knew nothing about at the time. But perhaps we choose certain things (and people, and places) that we want to grow in significance in the future, not knowing the timing or the path it will take to get there.
Song: Time After Time, Iron & Wine
