A View and All It Conjures

I can’t quite do justice to how happy I feel right now at Pier A Park in Hoboken, plopped at Alessio’s metallic blue tables, looking at one of the most spectacular views on Earth. This day holds magic in its ordinariness. Few people. Shimmering water. Geese dotting the lush green grass. The Freedom Tower and all it represents.

The cynic would focus on the geese pooping all over the grass. Or the noisy buzz from guys landscaping the fringes of the park. Or the coffee I’m sipping that’s so bracing it evoked a “wow” and an eyebrow raise.

But a few homeless people here seem to get it. The glory of it. One of them is playing a soundtrack that seems chosen for me — Boston, The Cars. I recall the Anna Quindlen story of the homeless man she talks to in Coney Island; when she asks why he’s there and not at a shelter, he says, “Look at the view, young lady. Look at the view.”

Some of us appreciate the view in life. The moments. This is what I’ve learned in the last few decades. You can’t teach it or force it. If I bring two people to the Hoboken waterfront, one will inevitably treat it like a discovery, a wonder. Another will hear my offer to linger and drink it in, but politely decline. There are people who live in this town who aren’t drawn to the water.

We are different.