Alec Baldwin looked like hell. Well, at least compared with his television character persona, he did. But compared with everyone else, he looked perfectly normal. His hair was mussed up, his jacket was big and his clothes were somewhat rumpled. And he was talking on a cellphone as he walked.
Michelle and I passed him as we walked along a quiet Manhattan street on a recent, quiet evening. Of course, I was loaded with cameras in a backpack — I rarely go anywhere without my beloved Leica cameras. But I wasn’t tempted to pull off a quick photo of a celebrity. He was just a guy walking down the street, like Michelle and I were walking down the street. He didn’t need a camera in his face. He has his own life, too. So I shot a photo of Michelle instead. Yes, he gets a lot of bad press, but I really like Alec Baldwin. I just happen to think Michelle is cuter.
A few days later, I sat in a mostly empty screened lanai in what I think should be Ruskin but what the post office now refers to as Apollo Beach, and watched occasional bolts of lightning silhouette the scrub palm trees edging the backyard of our new-to-us house. I could not possibly be further away from Manhattan and my feelings were mixed. I felt lost.
New York City is the world’s most amazing city. It is the physical manifestation of this nation’s wealth and power. On the former, it oozes wealth, through gleaming towers, museums chock-full of art and history, and residents parking in spots that cost far more than the average home, or wearing clothes that cost more than a week’s wages for most Americans. And speaking of Americans, in many ways, it is the most patriotic city I’ve ever visited — the American flag is absolutely everywhere you look, flying from buildings and bridges or glowing from enormous LCD screens. I have had the good fortune to visit many of the world’s great cities, and from my perspective, New York is the greatest of them all.
But it’s not without its problems, of course. The wealth divide, a growing concern in this nation even by such staid institutions as the Federal Reserve, is stark here. More and more, particularly in Manhattan, there are very rich people and very poor people with fewer and fewer in between. And, of course, there are the associated problems with that. While crime is near an all-time low in the city, living here still requires overlooking some unpleasantness, much like it does in a place such as the Tampa Bay area — an area where a lot of people want to live but where living can be difficult.
The city has changed much from the muggings, murder and mayhem of the 1970s and ’80s. Perhaps now, to those who lived through those years, and remain in the security of a rent-controlled apartment, the crime is still there but is more institutionalized. It is a city where even a princess gets an eviction notice to make way for the market rate $10,000 monthly rental charge over the rent-controlled price she has been paying for 40 years.
Regardless, to successfully live in the New York City area, to survive here and enjoy all that this most amazing city has to offer, you really have to have a purpose for being here. Alec Baldwin, for all of his problems with paparazzi, certainly does. He may say he is leaving but he always stays. It’s his city.
I’m not sure it is mine. I think, perhaps, with more time, I could have found my purpose. I had a few glimmers of it, and that was amazing. But time isn’t necessarily on my side. I’m on the downhill side of life — that’s not morbid, it’s just realistic.
Somewhere in the distance, thunder rolled. A bolt of lightning silhouetted the palm trees again. I’m going to miss almost everything about New York City, but this is home. I’ve missed so much here, too. I’ve missed seeing you in the grocery stores and at events. I grew up in Minnesota, a place few people seem to leave — if you’ve spent any time there you’d know this to be an odd thing to say … but this is home.
Watching the lightning light up the trees, enjoying a warm January evening and enduring an August one. I won’t see Alec Baldwin walking down my street, and that’s okay. This isn’t his place. It’s yours and now, again, it’s mine.