Good morning from New York City.
Seeking Comfort in Stillness
It’s June 11, and I’m sitting alone in a quiet open-air plaza just outside Macy’s in downtown Manhattan. The city buzzes around me, but I’ve carved out a little space of solitude while my wife, Cary, and our friends Don and Christy are off touring the Empire State Building. I chose not to join them—my lifelong fear of heights still holds strong. Instead, I found a cozy French bakery, picked up a coffee and a chocolate croissant, and decided to simply enjoy being here.
The coffee is welcome. While there’s an espresso machine in our hotel room, it produces the kind of concentrated Italian shot that vanishes in a sip. This morning, I craved something slower. I had already enjoyed a proper New York bagel earlier near our hotel downtown—no need for anything else, really—but this little indulgence felt right.
A City that Pulls at Me
I love New York. I haven’t been here in a while, but this city always pulls at me. My first trip was back in 1980 or ’81 when my then-boss, Stewart Hudson at Pepperdine University, sent me to a conference here. I remember thinking, “Well, I live in L.A.—how different can New York really be?” I learned quickly: New York is in a league of its own. And even after years of travel and time spent in great cities like Chicago and Los Angeles, New York still stands apart. There’s a pulse here—a layered complexity—that I find deeply compelling.
Echoes of History in Greenwich Village
Yesterday, we arrived in the city around 10 a.m. After checking in, we walked through Greenwich Village, a first for me, guided by our dear friend Charles. He showed us sights we’d never have discovered on our own. We visited Washington Square Park and, most memorably, the Stonewall Inn—the historic birthplace of the LGBTQ rights movement in America.
Being there stirred something in me. It reminded me of other places marked by historical pain and transformation, like the Lorraine Motel in Memphis or even Auschwitz. There’s a solemn gravity to places where people suffered—and where change was born from that suffering.
A Song Heard Differently
Inside the small museum at Stonewall, a Herb Alpert song played: “This Guy’s in Love with You.” I’ve heard it all my life through the ears of a heterosexual man, imagining it as a serenade to a woman. But in that moment, surrounded by the echoes of another community’s story, it resonated completely differently—poignant, tender, and real. A reminder that we all carry our own lens through which we hear, see, and interpret the world. What seems ordinary to one person might be deeply personal to another. The next song, “Cabaret,” landed in a similar way.
Summer Humidity and Lighter Crowds
Tourism seems lighter here this year. Fewer lines, less congestion. Good for livability, no doubt, though probably tough on the local economy. Today is warm and humid—overcast skies and highs in the low 80s. I’m already sweating just from walking, but it’s not the heat so much as the humidity that clings.
A Moment to Ground Myself
I’m grateful for this moment of pause. Sitting here with my coffee, watching the morning unfold, I feel grounded. It reminds me of my morning walks—those small, sacred rituals that help me settle into the day. I’m hoping I’ll have time to record another voice memo before the trip ends. But for now, it’s enough just to be here, in the heart of a city that never stops beating
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