You can’t live in NYC for more than 5 minutes without wondering where all these people came from!  It’s truly remarkable being constantly surrounded by 1,000 different people than the minute before while moving about.  And to think…every one of these people has or had a mother, a father, a childhood, a story.

As a creative person I love to think about where people have come from.  It’s a little too easy sometimes to dismiss a character on the subway or street or in the park, but literally everyone came from somewhere.

Almost every day I take my pooch Bella on an hour long walk through Prospect Park just two blocks away from my apartment.  In the summer, fall, and spring the park is bustling over with people walking dogs, playing with kids, running or riding bikes, attending concerts and ball games.  During the winter however, I was sometimes alone for most of the walk (which I enjoyed as I like to sing as I walk).

Due to this isolation, the other people who were there stood out to me in a new way, and I noticed quickly that there was one man who was there literally every day, standing in the same place, wearing the same clothes and doing the same thing.  He would just stand there, watching the squirrels.  There are a lot of squirrels in the park, but in the place where he stands, there are literally 30-40 within a 20 foot radius at any given moment.  Every day, no matter what time I would go, he was there, holding a folded up newspaper which he had scribbled all over with words, symbols, and shapes.  I have no idea if he suffers from a disability or a disorder, if he’s homeless or just really likes that place, but it’s easy to imagine the worst for this man.

So many of us have so many aspirations – creatively, work related, family – so many aspirations.  Most of us can’t imagine wanting to just stand there looking at a bunch of squirrels, but who am I to say where he should be?

The more I encountered this man, the more I thought about him, and came to the beautiful conclusion that he and I are probably a lot more alike than I would have wanted to believe upon first glance.  He was born and probably had a family, and dreams just like me.

Who have you dismissed or not even noticed?  Are they really so different from you?

A MAN IN THE PARK

There is a man in the park
Who stands in the same place every day
Tucked away on the path less taken
Where only the squirrels play

He watches them with a child’s wonder
And I can’t comprehend
What he’s thinking or where he’s been
Was this his plan, just watching them?

But he has a story
He was a boy
Climbing the tallest tree
And as a young man
Stared into the skies
With love in his eyes
And a dream
In the palm of his hand
We’re not so different

Now all he holds is a folded paper
Covered in black inked characters
Perhaps some guide to the galaxies
Or just some senseless rambling

But he has a story
He was a boy
Climbing the tallest tree
And as a young man
Stared into the skies
With love in his eyes
And a dream
In the palm of his hand
We’re not so different

Who am I to say where he should be?
In another life that could be me

But he has a story
He was a boy
Climbing the tallest tree
And as a young man
Stared into the skies
With love in his eyes
And a dream
In the palm of his hand
We’re not so different