Right now there is a different kind of flower but I usually remember tulips.

I have a system for walking from point A to point B in Manhattan - its goals are to save time and distance. However, I recently implemented an exception to my usual rules.

In the old days, when I would approach a corner of Park Avenue and see that the light had already read “Walk” for several seconds, I would get a sudden mild panic wondering “Should I run to make it across?” Or more specifically, should I embarrass myself with my slow girly jog and possibly lose a slipper and have to scamper to put it back on and then sprint the remaining feet while impatient cars inch forward waiting for me to get out of the way?

But I forced a new habit upon myself - it does rub against my New Yorker grain but the habit is this:

If I am not in a big hurry - as I approach the corner of Park Avenue, I accept the fact that if I continue without running I risk the possibility of getting stuck on the meridian. I do continue, and I cherish this possibility. I look forward to it.

On the meridian, I can look at the flowers, notice the effort that went into planting them - wow, someone constantly replants the flowers all along Park Avenue. I can look at the cars go by. It’s also the perfect place to stop and tie your shoe - or find the metrocard, phone, or key that you accidentally dropped loose into your giant, unorganized tote bag.