The Road to Somewhere

The stretch of 37^th Street in Brooklyn’s Sunset Park neighborhood probably doesn’t appear in any guidebook or list of must-see attractions. But last Saturday afternoon, my stomach full of banh mi and an uncharacteristic cup of sweetened iced tea in my hand, there was perhaps no place in the city I would rather have been than the desolate strip of pavement and sidewalk that runs unheralded between the southern edge of Greenwood Cemetery and a massive MTA train yard. 

As is often the case, food was the impetus for my visit to Sunset Park. After my introduction to banh mi at Ba Xuyen, I could have gotten back on the subway at 9 Ave. and gone to the glitzier environs of Manhattan, where I planned on (you guessed it) eating again before catching an Amtrak train home. But Greenwood Cemetery has long been on my list of places to visit, and while the high wrought iron fence surrounding it didn’t look particularly inviting, I had a vague notion that if I walked a certain undefined distance, I’d eventually find an entrance.

It didn’t take long for me to realize that probably wasn’t going to happen, but I kept walking anyway. Moved might be too strong a word, but I was struck by the contrast between the beautiful, peaceful graveyard on the right-hand side of the road, full of green expanse and stately mausoleums and spectacularly changing autumn foliage, and the gritty train yard on the left-hand side, full of gray and steel, graffiti and garbage.

Like most people, I love the colors of fall and make a point of taking in as many of them as I can before winter sets in. Unlike most people, however, I also find a certain beauty in infrastructure. I appreciate the fact that places like that train yard exist solely to serve a utilitarian function, making no attempt at any conventional notion of aesthetic pleasantness. 

I didn’t expect that I would ever see these twin passions of mine, seemingly so contradictory, juxtaposed so neatly. As I walked along without another living soul in sight, I couldn’t help feeling that this particular spot on earth had been laid out specifically with my quirks and peculiarities in mind. 

The notion of solitude mentioned above brings me to my real point: had I been traveling with anyone else, I almost certainly wouldn’t have taken this diversion and discovered this tableau that seemingly leapt straight out of my mind and onto a hidden corner of the map. As fascinating as I found it, I realize that most people, when presented with all New York City has to offer, probably would be less than thrilled about walking a mile or more out of the way to the next subway stop with no real purpose other than appreciating the contrast between an ugly train yard and a pretty graveyard.

And that’s the beauty of traveling alone: when you answer to no one but yourself, you’re free to take chances, screw up, and do things that serve no other purpose than pursuing your own interests, no matter how quirky or pointless or weird they might seem to anyone else. 

In a larger sense, this experience helped me realize that I too often limit myself because I fear criticism or mockery if I screw up or lead someone else down a path that interests me but just looks like a wasteland of garbage and old dead people to them. We’d probably all be better off if we focused less on the fear of failure and more on the unabashed pursuit of our passions. Sometimes a road to nowhere is worth taking, just for the hell of it.