The Last Time We Saw Each Other: The Year of 50

I remember our many late nights in Brick Lane, sneaking mini bottles of red wine into bars and taking secret swigs of them inside.

A Woman in the World is a photographic diary exploring aging, identity, perimenopause and the stories beneath the stories.

April 4th

Central Park. The place that used to be my refuge when I lived in the city. Sometimes, when I’m back here, I see other people who look like I imagine I used to. As though they are trying to absorb as much energy as they can from the trees and the green space to fuel themselves to continue navigating all the concrete, all the millions.

And how eventually, for me, an hour or two, or even most of a day, in the sanctuary of the park wasn’t enough to take the edge off. The oppressive, anxious edge that clouded my mind and flooded my body and screamed at me to flee to open fields and peaceful trails where maybe, just maybe, I could take an inhale that wouldn’t hurt me.

I thought that when I lived in a peaceful place, I’d feel more energized when I visited the city. That I’d long for its creative and chaotic embrace in the way I used to.

But mostly I feel good about spending a little time here and there, and then I’m happy to retreat again.

NYC will forever have a place in my heart. But can I see myself leaving the woods of upstate NY to return to the hustle and bustle? Hard no. Unless it was a penthouse apartment with super quiet neighbors. Which doesn’t sound very New York at all.

April 5th

We were about to head to the trail but when I checked the weather app, it forecast rain starting at the time we’d arrive by. So we walked around the lake estate as is our usual weekly route. We managed 2 out of 4 laps before the rain began.

We had a spring cleaning day, even though the gloomy day didn’t feel very spring-like at all. Minimalist as we think we are, it’s startling what can accumulate. It’s something I plan to write more about, but suffice to say I was pretty ruthless with letting go.

I think these are some of my favorite times that we spend together. Side by side as we work methodically and quietly, lost in our own thoughts. And then the inevitable squabble, followed by the inevitable laughter. No contact with the outside world. Just us in our own little bubble.

April 6th

We made it to the trail in the morning, easily finding our rhythm on our favorite path. Immediately we launched into a conversation about politics and a couple of friends we’ve lost along the last few years.