Column: Recharging my batteries with a trip to the city

I had only been in Boston for 10 minutes during a recent visit when I jaywalked across my first street.

Was this an example of the adage that “old habits die hard?” Or had muscle memory kicked in as I stood on the curb waiting for the “walk” signal?

I grew up 40 miles south of Boston, and visited the city often with my parents. We’d go to Fenway a few times every season, and always checked out the festive lighting at Christmas. As a teen, I frequently went into the city with my best friend, Carol. We took the bus up and then traveled on the subway, the MBTA.

Back then, it took us several tries to figure out how the “T” worked. My parents always drove to Boston and parked near our destination, so I’d never used it with them. Carol and I wanted to get to Harvard Square, which requires taking a Red Line train. One can do this easily from the prominent Park Street Station, but not from the Green Line stations we passed as we walked through the Back Bay.

So, unaware of the existence of the Red Line, we studied the Green Line maps and determined we should take a train as far as it went and then walk the rest of the way to Cambridge. I still remember when the light bulb went off and we realized we needed the Red Line.

Now, on this day in mid-August, 2018, I was on my way to meet Carol at the Boston Public Library. I’d come down on the Downeaster and was making my way to the Green Line at the North Station T stop.

I enjoy traveling on the train from Maine to Boston and have done so once or twice a year for the past several years. Last summer was an exception; I just couldn’t make it. Yet, when I got off the train a few weeks ago, I knew immediately where to go. I headed out to the street to cross over to the subway; I was thrown off for a minute because I had to take a detour due to construction, but I quickly regained my bearings.

Soon I was tapping my “Charlie” card on the turnstile, and waiting for a train. As if I did this every day.

On the platform, I reflected how far away this experience was from my current everyday life. That’s what travel is all about, of course, but I was revisiting a place where I once worked and studied. At various points in my life, I took the T to my job, to classes. Now, in Maine, I drive just about everywhere I go, though I do prefer public transportation and walk whenever possible. The last classes I took were online.

Cars and computers are convenient but isolating. I prefer being alone in the midst of humanity. One reason for this is that I like to people watch. I wasn’t long on the subway before I was amused by a crotchety fellow who was exhorting somebody, anybody, to take the one seat left in order to make room for those standing. (He would have had to squeeze by several people to claim it himself.) After the crowd thinned out at Government Center, I watched a man come on the train with two sticks and a bucket. I’m still wondering what he was going to do with them.

Finally I was at Copley Square. Carol was waiting for me on the steps of the library. As we chatted about our plans for the day, our attention was distracted by a group of a half dozen young men. One was wearing a crown. Another had on a black fedora and a knee-length jacket over a bare chest. Yet another was taking photos, or perhaps filming the others.

We were intrigued. What were they up to? We went inside the library, grabbed some hot beverages and pastries, and strolled to the courtyard to enjoy watching them. Soon the group of young men arrived and set up camp near us. One pulled on some thigh-high, heeled boots that were adorned with gold studs. Carol said, “I have to find out what they’re doing.”

“Go for it,” I said.

She asked the young man wearing the crown. He replied, with a smile, that they were indeed doing a photo shoot, but didn’t elaborate on what it was for. He also explained why he was wearing a crown, but he used a cultural reference that I was clearly too old to understand.

Carol and I took an “Art and Architecture” tour of the library, ate lunch at a sidewalk cafe on Newbury Street, and visited “Eataly,” which is an Italian market in the Prudential Center.

I felt, as I always seem to do in Boston, that I was simultaneously retracing my steps and covering new ground. As teenagers, Carol and I loved to visit the Brentano’s bookstore in the Pru. I made one of my first book purchases on my own there—a book of writing advice.

I’ve heard of this concept that everyone needs to “fill their wells” with good and different experiences from time to time. Then, when times are tough, we can draw on them.

My version of a torrential rainstorm on parched earth is a summer day in the city, filled with quirky sights and sounds, interesting people, good food and friendship. I am ready to face the fall.