I am overwhelmed with gratitude as I reflect on this project and my time here in New York City. I want to acknowledge that there is no way I could have done it without the support of my beloveds, and to be real, without the privilege and the means to pay for a month in New York City. I do not take either of those things lightly and am truly grateful for them.

This project was a lot to take on, and there were many days where it felt like going to work, but there wasn’t a day that I entered the Met that my heart didn’t beat a little faster – the work was joyful and meaningful. The discipline of writing for two to three hours every afternoon was instructive, both incredibly challenging and satisfying. I learned so much about history, and more than I ever thought I wanted to know about burial rituals and religious beliefs and philosophies about the afterlife. But I did! It turns out I wanted very badly to learn about all of those things. My feelings about beautiful, decorative objects have completely changed. I confess a blasé and somewhat superior attitude about accumulating “stuff;” however, I have gained a profound appreciation for the artistry and precision that goes into making a rug that contains 800 stitches in a square inch, or a Tiffany fountain made of thousands of pieces of Favrile glass. Or a sculpture of Artemis and her stag that is able to convey complex emotions out of bronze. More than anything else, this project has made me fall in love anew with human beings: their egos, their passions, their rivalries, their drive toward narrative, their capacity for originality, and even their perennial penchant for violence. 

I did not begin this project with any particular affection for the Met itself — it was more a marathon to race or a mountain to climb. The Met is a behemoth, and one that is growing and expanding. There is always a wing or two being refurbished. Lydia was telling us about a new children’s wing in the works that sounds like an excellent place to bring the grandkids one day. And yet, I feel an intimate affection for it now. On my last day, as I made my way out for the very last time, I had to suppress the impulse to interrupt and help the many lost looking people, wandering in circles. I wanted to take them by the arm and say, “Look! Look over there at that amazing thing! Let me help you find your way! Let me show you something astonishing!” It wouldn’t matter where I was in the museum as there is always something if you know where to look. 

Saying good-bye to New York City is bittersweet. New York is so…New York. There is nothing like it anywhere else. Sure, the weather is just awful, Times Square is a hellscape, and the pervasive smell of hot garbage is disgusting. Runs in Central Park are magical – quiet and companionable with the hundreds of others out there running. Runs in Riverside Park are also fantastic with dozens and dozens of dogs, beautiful gardens, and an entire hillside blanketed in hydrangeas. The pockets of quiet are oases. Broadway and West 95th near my apartment is a cacophony. Two avenues away, the same street is hushed, lined with beautiful brownstones and their pristine gardens. The “as-is” townhouse at 128 West 95th Street can be yours for a cool 4.5 million. The subway is the absolute best. BART could take a lesson or two from it. $2.75 will get you anywhere you need to go, and very quickly if you get an express train. I realize there are subway horror stories, but my experience was entirely positive.

People in New York are wonderful and sometimes hilarious. It’s crazy how small town New York City neighborhood can feel. I see the same people often near my apartment and even in the parks. The man who plays saxophone under the arch by the Met stopped playing on Day 19 to wish me a good morning. A twenty-something, young, white woman chased me down the street yelling, “Hey, tatted lady, do you have 10 seconds for autism?!” When I replied like a good New Yorker, “Nope!” she called out, “I’ll miss you, queen!” Then there was the man in Central Park who complimented me vociferously with great specificity then asked if I was married and if so would I be interested in cheating?” Both of us were cracking up as I declined the invitation and quickly moved along.  

My old teaching colleague and friend, Ida Acton, quoted one of her friends to me who had said that New York makes a great mistress but a terrible spouse. It’s so true. The notion of ever living here permanently is completely out of my system, although I will jump at any opportunity to visit. I am a Cali girl at heart and can’t wait to fly into the foggy arms of the Bay tomorrow.

Thank you so much for reading! Please feel free to share this on your socials or with anyone who might be interested in seeing a lot of the Met from the comfort of home.