It was a cool and dreary day in New York City and it stayed that way the whole time my father and I were there. We were there for a weekend for my 18th birthday present, and as all tourist do, we decided to visit all the normal attractions that the Big Apple had to offer. We visited the 9/11 memorial, walked a 5K through Central Park, and were on the first boat to the Statue of Liberty after it was reopened during the government shutdown of 2014. You always heard about people taking vacations that change their lives (I am looking at you, "Eat, Pray, Love"), but I never really bought into the whole cliche idea. This trip was definitely fun, but I would have never thought it would make any lasting impact on my life. Life is funny in its own way because it doesn’t particularly care when you think you should have a life-changing experience but rather seems to work in its own wild and spontaneous way.
On the Saturday of my vacation, I found myself walking up the grand steps to the entrance of the Metropolitan Museum of Art. While on my list to see, it had not been particularly high upon on that list. I had always enjoyed museums but almost always preferred historical museums over those that focused on art. But the moment I stepped through the doors and entered into the main hall, I knew there was something completely different about this place. A sense of quietness permeated the whole building and it struck me to my core. Compared to the hustle and bustle of the city that I had just left, I felt as though I was entering some sacred space, almost as if I had left the church to wonder around the old tombstones of some forgotten graveyard.
Art museums are in many ways like graveyards. As one wanders from room to room, staring from one piece to another, one senses the immenseness of time between you and the artist. You know in the back of your mind that many of these artists are dead, but before you stands the physical manifestation of their creative spirit, their soul. The long hours of work, the dedication, the blood, sweat, and tears, they all stare back at you, and you truly sense the person whom the artist once was.
It was in these moments that I found myself completely frozen in time. Looking up at pieces which had stood for centuries, I was at peace. Before, I had a lot on my mind. I was 18 years old, deciding on where I want to go to college and what I should major in. In a few short months, I was going to be on my own for the very first time in my life. It was a time of immense change and stress, and it all hung heavy on my mind, but as I wandered through the halls of the Met, I found myself completely and utterly safe. The world outside can wait, all that mattered now was that I was completely surrounded by the most beautiful place I had ever seen. When I, with a heavy heart, left that place, I left knowing that it was where I wanted, no, where I was meant to be. I decided on that day to pursue a career in history, and I dream one day to return to the Met.
For now, I finish this letter to Metropolitan Museum of Art with this. Thank you for giving me a glimpse of what heaven is like. Thank you for being an inspiration for young people like me, who desire to bring the world beauty and to preserve that same beauty for our children. Thank you for being a safe place, my safe place.
