JOURNAL NO.8

It’s strange to me that walking was once considered only something the poor did. It makes sense that due to financial reasons one could not pay to have a driver, or I guess in the 1700s a horse and carriage. But for my whole life and for the generation before mine, walking has always seemed like something nice to do. 

Its true that at times I and probably everyone else get lazy and don’t want to walk. I think we all have one specific walking route that we dread everyday. For me, I always dread walking from my house in Brooklyn to the subway because it’s an uphill climb. Its especially worse when it’s early in the morning and cold out, or when you’re extremely hungover. Walking through Times Square is always the worst. Every avenue or street in the 4 block radius of Times Square is constantly packed with people. Even worse than people; tourists. 

For this class, I have began to approach the idea of walking differently. I have always liked to walk. I do some of my best thinking while I’m walking. But the thinking was always only done or thought about during the walk. I never really took the time to reflect on the thoughts that went through my head on a walk. I would just walk down one of my two favorite streets, think, figure out whatever issue I was trying to figure out, smoke a few cigarettes, go home and have some tea.  

Growing up in New York City, I haven’t had many opportunities to take a nice, long walk through nature. Yes, there are parks and such in the city, but I honestly have barely gone to any park alone to just walk and think. 

Back when I lived in Park Slope, I would make my way up to Prospect Park a couple times a week, but majority of the time I was with company. 

Central Park is a place that I’ve never gone to on my own for the sole purpose of thinking. Looking back at it, I don’t think I have ever gone to Central Park on my own. 

I know that for many people, nature is a place for solitude and happiness. Being the city kid that I am, I find solitude and happiness in 3 specific places. 

First and foremost, the promenade in Brooklyn Heights. I walk down Remsen street and hit a dead end that leads to a pathway onto the promenade. I usually walk a few feet down and find a pleasantly empty bench, and I sit. Sometimes I sit and just look at the almost unfathomable skyline directly ahead of me. Sometimes I read. Sometimes I write. Sometimes I draw. It was here that I first realized I was in love. It was here that I first realized how silly it is to feel lonely. It was here that I first felt unloved. 

The two other places I go are two streets parallel to each other; Henry Street and Clinton Street in Carroll Gardens. Typically, I would walk down Henry towards Red Hook. When there’s nobody on the street, I have found myself talking out loud. My thoughts become vocalized and they begin to make more sense. I don’t have any particular realizations or moments of clarity that stick out in my head when thinking about the many walks I’ve taken down this street. I mostly use this walk to figure out something thats been going on in my head. Once I hit 2nd or 3rd Place, I make a left and head over to Clinton street to walk back home. 

Clinton street is different. As I walk down Clinton I experience a myriad of emotion. I become nostalgic and think of the many times I walked down this street with the many important people in my life. I think of the times I’ve walked down it alone, feeling either extremely happy or extremely depressed. It reminds me of my childhood and going to the dentist. I remember going down Kane street on 9/11 with my friend Nicholas and his mother after we were dismissed early from school. I remember finding one of my dearest friends blackout drunk laying under a mailbox crying and hitting himself in the head saying he doesn’t deserve to live. I remember getting him up, holding him and convincing him to walk home with me. 

The promenade and these streets are nature for me as nature is for others. They make me feel warm inside and many times make me want to cry. A lot of the time I don’t really know why I want to cry in these places. There’s just so much that come with them. 

I guess you could say that the promenade, Henry and Clinton Streets are my nature; an artificial nature. 

My natures, however, are extremely different than the nature I encountered at the Parc des Buttes Chaumont. Getting off of the 7bis line at Buttes Chaumont, the seemingly endless stairs were somewhat comforting. They were a challenge and the naive part of my brain thought, hey maybe these steps will help burn off all the baguettes!

I made it up the stairs, barley, and completely out of breath. I made it to the park and stood at the entrance for a few moments. The mere act of standing in a park made me miss home. Everything in there seemed so peaceful and calm, it was almost eery. I felt like crying. 

My phone died about 3 minutes after I made it to the park and I didn’t get a chance to take photos. Looking back on my walk, it seems to be a blur. My stream of thought during this walk was a depressing one. It was drizzling and gray out. I had my ipod plugged in and was listening to my good old friend Taylor Swift. 

The grass didn’t bring me peace but brought me nostalgia. Theres something so comforting about grass that isn’t entirely green and displays the various different shoes that have walked across it. I missed Prospect Park and it’s dirty, uneven, imperfectly green grass. 

I saw different types of people doing different things. But the park wasn’t packed. In fact, it seemed closer to empty than full. I felt alone walking through this unfamiliar place that did nothing but make me think of familiar places. 

I came across a few dividing paths and thought about Robert Frost which brought me back to my 7th grade English class with Hope, my teacher. I remembered how being forced to read something made it 8 times worse. 

I noticed trees and small plants/flowers. Trees usually have this ability to make me happy. When I look at a tree I can’t help but smile at it, most of the time that is. The trees in the park didn’t make me happy. Honestly, nothing in this park made me happy. 

I didn’t want to be walking through nature on my own on this cloudy day. I wanted to walk down a street with a bunch of people passing by me giving me a weird face for talking to myself. In the park, there was barely anyone. There was nobody there to give me a look. 

I walked across the bridge and finally felt warm. Looking down at the water reminded me of the lake in Prospect Park across the street from Mike’s deli. I remembered sitting on the benches with my friends when we were in either 8th or 9th grade, drinking four loko and playing truth or dare. 

The birds that floated atop the water made me feel like floating. I realized I sort of was…floating, I mean. Standing on this bridge that was also atop the water. I was floating in the most human way possible. 

That’s all I really remember about this walk. Feeling alone and feeling like crying. Missing the comfort of people. Missing the comfort of being judged and not giving a shit about it. Floating. 

I guess it was nice to have a stroll through nature. Though this park has lots of artificial aspects, I didn’t even realize nor necessarily care. Artificial or not, it was still nature to me. 

But nature isn’t my place. Nature doesn’t bring me solitude or happiness. Nature makes me feel alone and makes me miss things. It’s pretty weird, I know. But it is what it is.