As I moved through New York today it occurred to me that all my references are dated. This flashed through my mind last year when I showed people the city, but this year I feel more present in the city, having time to actually enjoy it and see the changes. Not everything is grand. Little facets of my home environment have changed just enough to be noticeable and make this home world seem as though I’ve been dropped into a parallel version of Harlem. Little things like the position of the couch in the living room of my childhood home, the position of Yankee Stadium on the horizon, fences lining the rooftops of buildings that never needed fences before.
With subtle change comes the more dramatic. The cultural energy of the place has changed and in some ways faded as the people who were part of the Harlem of my youth pass on and out of the city and often out of life itself to be replaced by a series of outsiders looking to make Harlem their own and create their own history here with seemingly little regard for what came before. The sociologist in me calls it gentrification. The businessman in me calls it eminent domain—though all that is being torn down are the families and history that shaped this place. The shells of the buildings remain intact with redrawn interiors cut free of rent control and thrust into a world of pricey Manhattan real estate. As a kid I took pride in knowing I could stroll through Harlem at night. Nowadays that action has no deeper meaning than being able to withstand the winter chill.
Times and places change. People change. The worlds of childhood look smaller and more distant in the lens of the present. I cling to the memories of where I group up as I cling to the memory of who and what that helped to shape me into.