Member-only story
Slowing Down In A City That Never Stops
A stroll through Boston Common was the urban escape I didn’t know I needed.
The cold air hits me. It’s sharp. Biting. Behind me, the city roars. Cars screech. Countless voices overlap. Footsteps tap in sync. The hum of Boston is a drumbeat I can’t turn off because I’m part of it. I’m rushing, always rushing. I’m also chasing a fast-paced life because it makes me feel alive. Or at least, that’s what I used to think. Because lately, I’ve been wondering if it’s draining me instead.
I enter the gates of Boston Common slowly. Almost hesitantly at first, as the sudden shift from concrete to soft grass is jarring. It’s quiet here. Tranquil, even. The grass is damp under my boots. The trees stretch up, their branches stark against the blue sky. And all of a sudden, the rush of downtown Boston feels far away, like I’ve stepped into another version of time. And it makes sense. Established in 1634, Boston Common is the oldest public park in the United States. Once used by colonists to graze livestock, it has also served as a gathering space for protests and celebrations.
I find a bench and sit. The wood is rough, worn smooth in places. People pass by, their conversations a low murmur. A child’s laugh cuts through, clear and bright, then fades. A gray squirrel scurries across the grass…