I first ventured to Randall’s Island for Governor’s Ball, where swarms of exuberant, scantily-clad, and intoxicated teenagers descended to revel in the music of their favorite artists. On June 7, 2014, after a morning with Moses, I found quiet ecstasy dancing to Jack White and Broken Bells. Sean captured countless photos of me atop a “hello” sign, images that later graced my 2016 cover photo. On March 28, 2016, I meandered through Randall’s en route from LaGuardia to 117th Street after celebrating my mutual birthday with Vy in Texas. In 2020, I took Mina to the beautiful bizarro LuminoCity Festival, and in 2021, Teddy and I paddled through the Bronx Kill in our little inflatable boat.
During the Covid era, Sean and I transformed the island into our daily escape, planning our schedules around 6-9 mile walks. We tuned into classes and conference calls, with occasional breaks for Pokémon catching. The day we first surpassed the six-mile mark in the soft, golden-hour light felt as if we had unlocked a new level in a video game. Under the shelter of Hell Gate Bridge, we planned our futures—law school, tattoos, entrepreneurial ventures. Rain or shine, we would dodge between children playing sports, young girls horseback riding, and families celebrating with barbecues at the 103rd Street entrance. We became fixtures on the island, once even prompting an onlooker to shout, “Y’all are here every day, are y’all best friends?”
With Sean away, Randall’s became my refuge for marathon training in 2022, where I logged loops under the sun to reach my 14-mile targets. After returning from London in the fall of 2023 to start law school, I eagerly devised new running routes, sometimes joined by Cole for early morning jogs. In 2024, I helped little children run in circles around Icahn stadium during NY Rising Road Runner’s field day.
Randall’s Island has undergone significant transformations from its early days as a somewhat daunting locale housing a psychiatric hospital, addiction treatment facility, shelters, a police station, and a wastewater treatment plant. The pathway to Governor’s Ball was the only lively area back then. A beautification project during Covid’s quieter days turned the island into a vibrant community space. Athletic fields and picnic grounds now dot the landscape, where hundreds of children play baseball on weekends. Amid New York’s current migrant housing crisis, it now provides shelter to 3,000 asylum seekers, adding complex new layers to its identity. On the rare mornings I run there, I encounter food delivery bikers, police officers, and the usual jubilant families.
It is one of the few spots where you can truly appreciate the Manhattan skyline. The island offers a peaceful retreat from the city’s hustle–unlike the crowded paths of Central Park, you can wander through nature almost alone, immersed in tranquility. Students dash across sports fields while runners and bikers make their circuits around the island and commuters traverse the narrow pathway to the Bronx. The sunset casting its glow over the greenery is unparalleled—a visual reminder of why this place is my safe haven.
My personal evolution has mirrored the island’s—through changing relationships, numerous therapy sessions, reconciliations, and moments of sheer joy. Every visit to Randall’s Island reaffirms the chokehold it has on my heart. The view of New York and the 116th Costco (always inspiring me to ponder if I could just swim home) never fails to fill me with immense joy. I’ve often implored friends to experience this place’s magic with me, grateful to those who’ve indulged me—even if they've complained of sore legs afterward—and slightly miffed at those who've passed up the opportunity. On perfect spring days, leaving feels unimaginable.
I miss Sean, but take comfort in knowing he'll return. We'll be best friends once again, exploring our favorite spot in New York. As life changes around us, this island remains a constant sanctuary, a source of comfort I know will always be there when I need it.
