My Right Foot: The George Washington Bridge

I have always been a creative person. I don’t think this makes me a better person. In fact, it often causes me to feel isolated both physically and mentally. Creation requires a certain amount of solitude. And with that solitude, a different way of looking at the world develops. A way that most people don’t quite understand. This is what causes that lovely “alone in a crowd” syndrome that often overtakes me. Sometimes it’s lonely; but most of the time, it’s pretty nice.

A lot of people think it’s hard to be creative---even some artists themselves.

A few years ago, I ran into an artist friend in my regular coffee shop early one morning. As usual, he was there with his coffee and art projects all spread out. He was in his late-fifties. A full-time, working artist. His work was in the Smithsonian and galleries all over the world. In the 70s, his work was featured in one the first issues of Andy Warhol’s magazine, Interview. I’d seen a great deal of his work both at the coffee shop and at his studio. I’d even purchased a few originals that particularly appealed to me. Just small pieces. He gave me hugely discounted rates---being that I was a waitress, and all. “Here,” he said that day as he pushed a pen and piece of drawing paper in front of me at seven o’clock in the morning, “close your eyes and draw an animal for me.”

“With my eyes closed?”

“Yes. Just put the pen anywhere you want to put it on the paper, think of an animal, and then close your eyes and draw. And don’t open your eyes till you’re finished.”

I thought for a moment, then put my pen on the paper, closed my eyes, and drew. Then I opened my eyes and turned the paper around.

“It looks like an anteater,” he said.

“Ya!!!” I clapped and smiled. “That’s what it is!”

And it was a pretty good anteater, if I do say so myself.

As we sat there drinking our morning coffee, he explained that people always talk about how hard it is to draw. How they can’t draw. How they have no talent. “But every little kid can draw. It’s only when you grow up that you develop inhibitions and lose that sense of play. I’m putting together a little show of these.” He took a long drag off his Marlboro and glanced down at the paper. “That’s a really good anteater.”

Recently, I realized that I’d started to lose that sense of play. Sure, it was still there; but sometimes, life just comes along. Work. Family. Laundry. Things just need to be taken care of. And, in New York City, the stakes are high. Most of the time, you’re just trying to make the rent and keep the apartment clean. Not much fun. And certainly, not inspiring.

For me, this wasn’t living. This was simply existing. Something had to be done.

So this morning, I woke up with the idea that I was going to take a 30 Day Artist Retreat. No, I’m not going into the woods to write poetry. But I realized that I did need to devote time to that very important side of me; because frankly, it was starving. Artistic Scurvy, if you will. I had no idea what I was going to do about it when I woke up today. A beautiful, spring day and no plans whatsoever. I mulled over going to Chinatown, to Soho, to the Village, to Central Park, to a museum, to a concert, or just get on a train and see where it took me. But with the trains in my neighborhood under repairs this weekend, I decided I’d rather look a little closer. And then it came to me. The George Washington Bridge. I began to wonder---Can you walk across the bridge? Safely? Just walk across the Hudson River to Jersey?

I did a Google search. According to a website I found, yes indeed, you can!

Within fifteen minutes, I had packed a bag, grabbed a bottle of water, put on my walking shoes and headed out the door.

For you folks who want to try this at home: First, go to the Southbound Pedestrian and Bike Entrance somewhere around 178th and Cabrini.

I admit, I felt a twinge of nervousness as I headed up the ramp. That nervous feeling you get as you're about to head off into the unknown. I had no idea what was on the other side of the bridge. I looked across the Hudson. A few houses and a large apartment complex stood beckoning me from atop the bluffs. What WAS over there? I'd heard that cigarettes were cheaper in Jersey. In New York State, they are currently up to between $10 and $10.50 a pack. Maybe I was about to walk across the bridge for a pack of cheap cigarettes. Or maybe I would find something even more interesting.

Nevertheless, I was off on adventure.

To my surprise, loads of runners; bikers; and walkers, like myself; were peppered all over the pathway. It was comforting to see them there. Those irrational fears of encountering a psychopath who would push me over the railing could be set aside. Phew. Though the bridge itself is not for the faint of heart or those afraid of heights. The GWB (as it is known about town) began construction in 1927 and completed in 1931. It was designed not only to withstand the elements, but to flow with them. Vibrations from passing trucks go all thru your body. And when a gust of wind hits the bridge, there is a barely perceptible sway. But it's this marvel of construction that has made the bridge one of the sturdiest in the country.

Also, the most beautiful.

The scenery while crossing the bridge was (to use a highly overused adjective) breathtaking.

Signs all over the bridge declared that No Loitering was allowed in the walkway and violators would be prosecuted. But how could you NOT loiter? Sure, you didn't want to get in the way of bike traffic. But no one in their right mind could possibly walk this span of bridge without stopping to admire the view. Yes, suicides often occurred on this (and many other) bridges in New York City. But as I stopped to look at the view of the Hudson, I couldn't imagine anyone standing on this beautiful bridge with the world spread out like a beautiful wedding cake before them and even consider jumping into the water below. Surely, someone has come here after a particularly trying time and looked out onto the river and said, "You know, it's so pretty up here. Maybe life is worth living after all."

As I walked across the bridge, I thought about the day I moved to New York City. You see, my choice of activity today was not quite so random as you might think. Almost eight years ago, I came to New York City with a strong belief in my talents and a truckload o' shit. A filmmaker friend of mine had offered to drive the truck for me as he knew I didn't know how to drive. I offered to pay for the truck, the gas, all expenses and his plane fare back to Minneapolis. We had driven together on a film shoot out to Boston and New Hampshire a few years earlier and knew each other to be good road companions. As we drove across the George Washington Bridge, I remember him saying, "This is the ONLY way to enter New York City". I still remember the view. The Twin Towers were still there then. They would be destroyed by the terrorists just a few months later.

That day, we were running behind schedule and the sun was setting over the Hudson as we crossed the bridge, casting a red-orange glow over the amazing city I was about to jump right into with a few hundred dollars and a dream.

Almost eight years later, I find myself still struggling, but still writing. This morning, with a few years of NYC experience under my belt, I decided to start all over from the beginning. Leave, and enter the city the way I came in. A re-birth. I knew nothing else other than when I came back across this bridge, I would come back with a fresh attitude and maybe a pack of cheap cigarettes.

I paused on the bridge for another photo. You see, as I walked towards the bridge, I began laying out my plan for my 30 Day Artist Retreat. I would write about the experience in my blog everyday---but what would be my theme? I remembered a photo I took with some black and white film years ago on an adventure day like today. I'd decided to walk around some railroad tracks all day and take photos. With no one else around, and wanting a picture of myself documenting that I was indeed there,I simply pointed the camera down and took a picture of my foot on the tracks.

So, this afternoon, as I crossed the GW Bridge, I pointed my camera down and took a photo of my right foot on the bridge. Not a thumbed-nose at the Daniel Day-Lewis film, it's just that my left foot was starting to get a small blister on my heel. So I took the picture of My Right Foot.

Later, I realized how appropriate as I was going for a Right Brain sort of thing over the next 30 days.

About twenty-five minutes later, I stepped off the bridge into New Jersey. And there it was---an Exit Ramp. Not even a gas station in sight at which to buy my discount cigarettes. I looked around for the most promising route and made my way off the highway by following a pair of twenty-something guys carrying some groceries home. The entrance to The Palisades was nearby and I remembered that this was the site of the old Palisades Park torn down in the early 70s. As I followed the pair of young men a few yards ahead of me, I noticed a tiny strip mall up ahead and went in that direction. But when I turned the corner, I discovered a gorgeous little...well, village. Small little shops and restaurants and cafes. The more I kept walking, I realized that I was in Fort Lee New Jersey. It was adorable! And full of interesting things at every turn.

One amazing spot was this memorial for veterans.

The walkway had small memorial stones listing the loved ones remembered for their service and lives.

I took photos and walked around for hours. One of my favorite sites was this rectory.

Though I remain a lapsed Catholic, I can still appreciate the beauty of the faith and the history of the church. The religious orders are not a mystery to me---I was practically raised by nuns. And writers often feel an affinity with the monastic life. Back in high school, as part of a religion class, we visited the convent of a contemplative order in St. Louis. We were told by the nuns that we were in for a treat and a great privilege. While our nuns were part of a more social order, the contemplative convent we were about to visit was full of nuns who never left the premises.

Never.

We were granted this great privilege because one of the girls in our class had an aunt in this order. That afternoon, we all piled into a vehicle we referred to as the "nun-mobile" and drove to the convent where we met our classmate's aunt. Well, meet is putting it a bit strongly. We saw her. Well, the shaded OUTLINE of her from behind a grill. She was in full-out nun regalia---long skirt, long habit and spoke to us softly from the shadows about her life inside.

She had been in the order for about 17 years at that point. She told us, in front of her niece, how just before she'd taken her final vows, she got to hold her newborn niece in her arms for the very last time. And then she put on that ring and was locked up behind the bars.

Well---those are my words. She seemed quite happy. What did she do all day? I asked.

"Well, we make the bread for the nearby churches and we pray for anyone who asks us to pray for them."

For this service to the community, they were given food, health care and a roof above their heads for life. In some ways, it seemed a bit too much. In other ways, not near enough. I remember we got to taste the bread. It was pretty good bread. A little dry, but then, it was meant to be washed down with the Blood of Christ.

As I walked the quaint little streets of Fort Lee, I did some contemplating of my own. Not about my past failures or the usual anxieties that often plague me after a hard week of waitressing---I just thought about what a beautiful day I was having. How much I missed having wonderful days like this. Walking. Thinking. Exploring. Feeling my creative juices coursing thru my veins. I felt good. Better than I had in weeks.

Now, on adventures like these, I'm always on the lookout for two things. First, a little spot I can call my own. It could be a bench or a coffee shop. A bookstore or a tree. Second, something my little brother and I used to refer to as a "thing-find". Not something you buy. Just something you find on the ground to commemorate your day. It could be an unusual looking stick or a bit of castaway treasure on the ground. You don't have to keep your thing finds forever. It's just the bits of things that catch your eye that you drag home in a knapsack to remember a lovely day. It also keeps you observant of the beautiful things around you.

While I kept my eyes peeled for a potential thing-find or two, with Fort Lee's large Korean community, I decided to find a little Korean spot to call my own. A few blocks later, I found it at a place called School Zone, which offered Korean-style frozen yogurt in a Hello Kitty atmosphere.

It was cheery and bright and I went inside to discover that I was the ONLY white person in the joint. The place was filled with twenty year-old Korean girls both on staff and as customers. Poppy Korean music played and the delicate cadences of soft-spoken Korean girls filled the room. The yogurt was self-serve and I filled my cup with a sampling of Blueberry, Mango, Strawberry and Green Tea frozen yogurt.

I ate my yogurt and looked out the window at the sunshine. What a beautiful day. Could the weather be any more beautiful? I didn't think so. I was happy here. I'd even managed to find a 7-11 to buy a pack of cheap cigarettes. Only about two dollars cheaper, but I was happy I'd had such a lovely day.

I went into a Border's bookstore I'd seen a few blocks away from the yogurt shop. Borders sell these amazing little notepads with an elastic band that are the perfect size to fit in my apron pocket at work. When thoughts on a project come to me, I can simply whip out my notepad, make my little note, and get back to pouring coffee and telling people about the specials.

Unfortunately, this particular Borders was quite new and did not carry my favorite notepads. It did, however, have a book that caught my eye:

It was PERFECT for my day! The book is filled with amazing chapters titled, "How to Tell a Ghost Story", "Climbing", "How to Be a Spy", "Making a Willow Whistle", "Going to Africa", and "How to Paddle a Canoe". It was in the Bargain Book bin and I snatched it up.

As I stepped out of the Borders, I realized that the sun was starting to go down, and I should probably start making my way back across the bridge.

I got a little lost, but that was okay. That's part of the adventure. What wasn't okay was that I hadn't come across any good thing-finds. Fort Lee's cleanliness was going to be my loss. After about twenty minutes of wandering around, I finally saw the entrance to the Palisades Park a few blocks ahead and got my bearings.

A few minutes later, I stepped back onto the bridge.

I took a deep breath and left all my negative thoughts, disappointments and rejections under the freeway ramp. Surely, some homeless man will find them there and add them to his shopping cart and plastic bag.

This time, I was entering Manhattan with a belly full of Korean yogurt, a renewed sense of hope and a book that would tell me how to identify a porcupine footprint. I was all set!

The sun was setting on the Hudson as I crossed. Just as beautiful as I remembered it the first time.

I remember my heart had skipped a beat the first time I crossed seven years ago---more in fear than anticipation. But this time, I was excited to get back to New York City. To be a Daring Girl. To be creative. To play. To work hard. To live.

About half-way across the bridge, I looked down at the cement pavement and there it was. My thing-find. A rock.

Yes, the shape was smooth and interesting; but what was more interesting to me is exactly HOW did a rock get on the George Washington Bridge?

The river was hundreds and hundreds of feet below so it certainly couldn't have washed up. The other bits you see in the photo aren't rocks, but bits of plastic and rubber that fell off the bridge and the nearby cars. The sandy bed is surely from the dust of the tires traveling over the bridge---but just HOW does a rock get all the way up here? And not a bit of broken concrete rock---but an actual pebble that fit perfectly into the palm of my hand. I picked up the rock and measured how it felt as I rubbed it in my hand. Never was a rock designed that was so perfectly Zen and organic in my hand. Almost perfectly smooth except for a few tiny indented patches to give it a only-God-is-perfect-Turkish-carpet sort of sense.

I don't think I've ever fallen in love with a rock before. But I fell in love with this one and and nursed it in my hand all the way across the rest of the bridge. This was my rock. My lucky rock. I don't think I've ever had anything I actually felt was lucky before. Sure, there was the Lucky Green Bean about a year ago---but that didn't last. After all, it was just a green bean.

As I headed towards New York, the lights of Manhattan began to flicker and glow. Yeah, I knew it wasn't exactly for me. But if I could believe that a green bean could be lucky, I could surely pretend that the lights of Manhattan were welcoming me back home.

The sun went down behind the Jersey side of the bridge and I went home to begin my creative journey. Right foot first.