Let it Happen

I spent a gorgeous afternoon in Central Park last month, walking the trails - worn down steadily by many others feet, certainly, but more than their fair share by mine and Kiva’s over the years. When I lived in Harlem, I took near-daily walks down to circle the Harlem Meer, often stopping in my most favorite part of the entire city - The Conservatory Garden. Just as often, I’d veer off into the North Woods and walk the quiet paths completely surrounded by trees to what felt like a secret spot - a little nook with a couple of rocks to sit on beside a gently cascading waterfall, dropping into a small river that now winds it’s way all the way to the Meer. 

This little nook looks out over the water and the surrounding trees - you’ll often see birdwatchers with their binoculars, hoping to catch a glimpse of the different bird species that inhabit our bustling city. You can just barely make out the wail of sirens beyond the park’s edges. It is, truly, one of the only places of refuge in the chaos of NYC. I have always loved and adored and appreciated it. It has been a place of solace for me. 

Especially the Conservatory Gardens. This perfect trio of French, Italian and English gardens sits tucked in the northeast corner of the park. Each one is special in its own way - the French with its annual burst of tulips in spring, the English with its incredible array of flowers and magnolia trees - but its the Italian garden that has always captured my heart. A grand lawn stretches toward a wrought-iron gate originally from the Vanderbilt mansion, flanked by crabapple trees that provide shade for the bench-lined paths and a stunning pergola wrapped in wisteria. Walking beneath those vines, you cannot help but feel transported to some Italian countryside where time slows down and the magic of the moment takes hold. 

At least, that is what has always done for me. 

So when I heard that, after years of renovation at the north end of the park, the crabapple trees had been uprooted and the wisteria removed to restore the pergola’s steel frame, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of dread. I had spent so many afternoons strolling those paths. I’d had my wedding pictures taken there (another lifetime ago). I had shared my first kiss with Ben under that very wisteria. That garden is full of history and memories - and I feared all of that would be torn down along with the vines.

But back to that sunny afternoon walk. I started at 103rd and Central Park West, winding my way into the North Woods. All was calm and familiar as I made my way to my favorite untouched nook, pausing for a brief moment of meditation. When I reached the place where the woods met the Meer, I saw the new connection between the river and the larger body of water  - beautifully done, simple and organic, as if it had always been that way. My favorite part of the park, but elevated.

And then, the gardens.

As I walked into the Italian garden, I noticed the newly lined paths, the shining steel, and the beginnings of new vines taking root. I sat with Kiva in the shade and took it all in. I let the memories wash over me and the conflicting feelings run through me and after I time I came to realize - there was nothing to fear. 

And I also realized I was no longer talking about the gardens. 

Life is continual renovation. Time keeps moving, life keeps unfolding, and holding on to what was only keeps me from living fully in what is.

This is when Let it Happen first came to mind.

The past couple of years have brought (more) seismic shifts - getting injured, leaving Broadway, questioning what my life without dance would be. Dance has been a part of me since I was three years old. I have many passions, and I love where I am in my life now, teaching and exploring new forms of movement. But I also recognize how long I’ve been holding on to the past - to what felt familiar - even before the pandemic. 

I give myself a bit of grace in knowing that I’ve lost so much already. So, to also lose the career I have known for two decades and the identity I have come to inhabit for four - that’s a lot to grapple with. 

And so, Let it Happen came to be.

Let the identity I have known fall away, at least for now. Let in the new. Sit in the rawness of uncertainty, knowing that the structure I have built - like that pergola - is still standing, steady beneath it all. Let this be a chance to start fresh, to let go, to allow the path to unfold. 

The discovery continues. It is not always easy, but it is true.

That afternoon taught me to let go and create space for what is to come. I will continue walking those garden paths, and I will continue to admire the way nature reminds us that nothing is permanent. I will try to live and breathe and be in the present - holding the knowledge of my past while  trusting a beautiful future lies ahead.