The girl with a flower on her hat.

As I crossed 3rd avenue, along St. Mark’s Place, I noticed a young woman.
I do that sometimes. I observe people. I don’t stalk. I don’t dwell. I just wonder.

In this brief moment of time, the glowing red hand magically made the jay-walker hesitate before crossing. It was just before the light was ready to turn into a little green man. I glanced on the windows of the top floor of the Cooper Union building on Cooper Square, the same building I used to visit often that Summer of 1996. A moment of curiosity came upon me.

Where is she hurrying to? Would I ever be friends with her? Will I see her again? Does she have a parrot for a pet? Does she run her own company? What is she doing on the Lower East Side in the afternoon? Does she know they have the yummiest creme brulee in that Italian restaurant on the next block? Where did she get that hat?! Why didn’t I go on to art school? Who is John Gault?

As I began crossing the street and the young woman disappeared from sight I dwelled on the next thought. I allowed myself for a second to imagine that I went on the path of becoming an artist. That is, instead of swerving to go off to business school, I would float on the cloud of my childhood passion of becoming an architect. I would take up a spot at Cooper Union.

Did I even know what ‘being an architect’ means as I proudly declared my future plans as a toddler? All I knew was that my dad was an architect and my mom was an architect, and I was simply proud to be in their company. Despite my ignorance of whether I even had any talent for the craft, it was the purest of dreams. I did not consider how much money architects make or whether there was a demand for any. It was as easy to say as it was to dream: “I want to be an architect when I grow up.”

Dreaming of the artist lifestyle I never had, I wondered. Would I know what heels look like? Would I have pink streaks of hair? Would I make the East Village my home? Would I permanently own a canvas bag? Would I be where I am today. Most importantly, would I be surrounded with the same people that I dedicate my time and attention to day in and day out?

Would I? If only I? Could I? If only I’d?

I did what I did. I yam who I yam. Art school or not, I am happy. It has made no difference. I could just go and buy myself a hat with a flower on it.