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In one of my favorite poems “A Step Away from Them”, Frank O’Hara writes that “neon in daylight is a / great pleasure.” That statement, and the fact that in the next line he mentions both a cheeseburger he has stopped to eat and ruminates on the subconscious of Edwin Denby, always brings a smile to my face. Part of the reason I was drawn so immediately to O’Hara’s poems is that they embrace a scene of the city as uninhibited activity, and preserve the idea of observation without conventional understanding or emotional attachment. He’s describing New York, but experience counts more than explanation or evaluation. Some part of me feels at ease with the thought that there is joy in the mere fact of the multitude, in the unvarnished chaos, in the miscellany of a city moment. People-watching, day-dreaming, sudden realizations, food – they’re not supposed to define who you are, but they are often how you experience what life is. I thought of O’Hara while running today, and it was one of the more special runs I’ve had in Houston. The majority of my running takes place around the Rice loop, or around Memorial Park. Some people might not understand the attraction to running in circles, but there are some definite perks. You almost never have to stop for cars, you get a dirt trail rather than pavement, and you see people going the opposite directions twice each lap (which, on a long run, almost makes you temporary companions, partially due to the ability of runners to show a stunning range of expression and sincerity with their bodies and faces). I’ve run a few times near my house, but there are some major roads beyond the small pretty residential section of Montrose I’m in (about 1/2 mile long and wide), which means a lot of stopping and starting. Today I left all my running stuff at home (yesterday it was my lunch, the day before my computer….i’m forgetful), which meant that a run at school would entail a trip home, back to school, back home to shower and eat, and back to school to play an opera. Today was supposed to be an easy run, and this plan just felt too stressful for the occasion. North of me about one or two miles is the Buffalo Bayou and the Allen Parkway, sort of the equivalent to West River Drive in Philadelphia, but not as user-friendly. I thought about driving up to the Bayou, where there is a 5 mile loop that goes by downtown Houston. But there is some part of me that mentally loves to run out the door, to just go. I bring my running stuff to school so that I can do just that, so that as soon as the torture of renaissance music history I’m forced to take is finished, I can bolt, both figuratively and literally. So today I ran out of my apartment without my iPod, without an idea of where I was going except north, and suddenly found my easy run was stunningly easy. Montrose has such an eclectic variety of houses and architecture, dogs and cats were out on people’s yards (a puppy charged me, but I got away), the streets were empty of cars and I could run towards the shade, even traversing some cracks and hills on the sidewalk made the run more adventurous, more exciting. I stopped and started at the traffic lights, but instead of feeling let down, I just accepted it and felt renewed after each stop. I passed an antique junk market, a Vietnamese donut shop, Texas Art Supply, the Lovett Inn where I voted yesterday (YES!), but the best part was around I think Dallas Street, where suddenly to the right I noticed how close to downtown I had gotten, the skyline right there. I was having this great time running, feeling as thought I could continue on and on, and suddenly it dawned on me that I was in the middle of this city. Isn’t this my sort of unspoken dream, to be lost within a city, a part of the multitude but solitary? I crossed onto the Bayou path a few minutes later, and ran (on hills, I had forgotten how they felt!) towards the city a while, past some sculpture gardens, amidst and at times beneath a noisy highway. On this post-election day where suddenly a whole lot more seems possible in this world, thoughts came and passed as I ran, day-dreams floated around, recipe ideas were created and discarded, occasional smiles took hold, Puccini melodies were silently whistled, I looked one more time at the skyline before turning to leave, remembered and smiled at O’Hara’s city-sketch, and thought that for today at least, Houston felt just a little more like home.
