The Power of Thresholds
I just got home from a trip to NYC to meet with some folks, and attend The Welcome Conference hosted by Will Guidara, author of Unreasonable Hospitality (one of my favorite books ever). 1,200 artists, hoteliers, restauranteurs, and founders gather for a day of cup-filling on the art of welcoming people - aka hospitality.
(I brought along a fun present for Will, trying to put the book into practice as a small thank you for how much it has inspired me :).
My friend Blair came with me. He runs our hometown farm-to-fork institution, Cafe Homestead. My sister Suzannah, who runs our family bakery & cafe up in Idaho, The Pie Safe, joined us too.
I missed Helen and the boys immensely and am so glad to be back, even if only for a day before we leave again tomorrow, this time for Virginia & Tennessee (a mix of work/consulting, a friend’s wedding, and our 6th anniversary).
The energy of New York is second to none; the amount, but also the quality. I’m grateful to have a growing collection of friends across the city to see when I go, but NYC itself seems to show me an entirely fresh side every time I visit. Yesterday afternoon, before flying out, I spent a couple hours with my friend David at MoMA. I must confess, seeing Starry Night, along with other favorites, old & new, in person for the first time was a bit surreal.
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MoMA is an entire world of its own, and crossing its threshold is a powerful experience. A world of modern art - which includes some incredibly inspiring realism, by the way - set inside one of the most modern, high-energy cities on earth.
And then, just six blocks north, lies another threshold: Central Park.
Like the city surrounding it, the park offers nearly 1,000 acres of endless mysteries and stories, crevices and corners and new angles that narrate stories - paths, corners, rocks, water, trees, meadows, bridges, clearings. Stories told through the composition of natural things.
It is walled in on every side by skyscrapers and towers. And as you cross any number of the countless entrances, with a few steps you exit one world and enter another. I don’t know another city with quite the same contrast.
We cross thresholds every day: one room to another, indoors and outdoors, home to street, street to park, car to sidewalk, work to rest.
And NYC is a city of profound thresholds, the park being one of the best examples of many. That tension seems to supercharge the energy and magnetic power the city holds.
Buildings & nature.
Fast & slow.
Power & peace.
Hard & soft.
Old & new.
Growing up a country kid, I’ve never seen myself living in a city, but if I ever had to pick one, it would have to be New York.
Last week, I visited a very different place built around a similar kind of contrast that felt uniquely alive. Serenbe is a village nestled in the forested hills of North Georgia: thousands of acres of permanently preserved forest with a series of carefully designed hamlets woven into it, collectively home to 1,500 residents. My friend Steve Nygren has spent more than twenty years building it into one of the most spectacular examples of placemaking and modern townbuilding I’ve ever come across.
One of the simplest ideas they execute is also one of the most powerful: every home has two front doors - one to nature and one to the town. Like NYC on a micro-scale, that tension of thoughtful development and untouched nature creates a magnetic beauty that is clearly felt, though not always articulated. (Here’s a short video I made to illustrate.)
Life needs contrast and irony. So do great stories, great art, music, people, and places, too.
Thresholds - where one world gives way to another - hold immense power.
I’m loving to learn to pay attention to them.