The other day, I went into New York City for a quick meeting. The strategy was straightforward: enter, exit, and avoid staying too long in the bustle. But I decided to go for a walk when I finished earlier than expected. I don’t usually think of myself as a “city person.” Most of the time, the traffic, noise, and constant motion feel like too much. But that day, as I felt the crisp air on my face and saw the first signs of fallen leaves on the sidewalks, something changed. As I wandered up and down the tree-lined streets, I noticed details I might have missed before: the way the light filtered through golden leaves, casting shadows across historic brownstones (including one once home to American composer Irving Berlin, now housing the Luxembourg Consulate); the pumpkins and mums perched proudly on stoops; and people gathering seasonal produce from street stands. Even the pace of the city seemed a little less frantic, as if fall had given it permission to slow down. I went to Slate Café after my meeting, which is now my go-to place for a leisurely brunch in the city. The day had warmed up just enough to sit outside — I even shed my blazer — and soak in the sunshine. Their egg-and-cheese breakfast sandwich remains a favorite, and the iced latte was just as good as I remembered.
There’s something undeniably cinematic about autumn in New York. It’s the kind of season that makes you want to linger a little longer, sip your latte a little slower, and pause to watch the world go by.
I may never be a true “city person” — I’ll always crave open space, quiet beaches, and barns more than skyscrapers. However, on this day, I felt thankful for the shift in perspective. The city, dressed in fall’s warm hues, felt different. It felt welcoming.
A season can sometimes change more than just the weather. It can change the way we see a place — and maybe even how we feel in it.
