I am the girl who rarely says " no"・ A demanding career, chairing a local professional group, helping to found an international professional group, caring for a parent affairs, and caring for two dogshad burned me out. I needed a vacation.

I scheduled a week off from work and searched for beach rentals. At first, the search was in vain. Most houses were expensive, some would not allow dogs, and some were far away from the beach. At last, I found a house for the right price, with a dog-friendly fenced yard, across the street from the beach.

I took off for the rental with my dogs. It was easy to find the house. Inspecting it, the first thing I noticed was the same small carpet in the kitchen as in my own. It felt like a good sign. I let the dogs run and roll in the yard and continued my inspection. The house was very clean, the bed and sofas were all comfortable, and there were plenty of pots, pans and dishes for a week of meals. Setting into this strange place felt like taking a deep breath. We went on walks and runs on the beach. Schools of playful dolphins offshore kept pace with my walks. Fresh air and sunshine inspired creativity with my camera.

I now refer to this place as my recharge rental, and it has become the one calendar entry each year written in stone. Every visit, I meet nice people. A man on the beach told me how to recognize shark teeth in the sand. Another year, during a beach walk, a woman stopped me because she thought she knew me. It turned out we have a friend in common in Atlanta. Enjoying an annual visit to the beach has allowed me to step out of daily life and refill my energy.

In a city where tall buildings can make one feel closed in, Bryant Park offers open space for citizens and tourists to relax, enjoy food and drinks, or simply to charge a cellphone. Visited by six million people every year, the park has a well-designed backyard feel, equipped with comfortable chairs, a fountain and some attractive pieces of grassland.

In a tiny section of the park in Manhattan of New York City, a group of ping-pong enthusiasts come together at The Tables, free outdoor ping-pong tables that attract people from across the city. These people of various ages, backgrounds and skill levels were strangers who became friends first, then family.

The Tables are available to the public beginning at 11 a.m., and regulars start to show up around 4 p.m. This close group, referred to as the “After 7 Guys”, remain at the tables long after they officially close. Matches are competitive, and winners are able to stay on a table until they are defeated. Those waiting their turns can be seen eagerly watching the game or joyfully greeting returning friends.

They come to have fun, connect, relieve stress and “feel alive”. Gregory Williams was previously homeless, but has found jobs through the connections he made here. He has built many relationships with players including a special relationship with a younger player, Gideon. “He always makes me feel better,” Williams says. “Especially when I was going through some tough times he would go out of his way to check on me.”

Most don’t know that professional ping-pong player Wally Green is responsible for the addition of the ping-pong tables to Bryant Park. What began as a marketing tool for SPiN, a local ping-pong center, unexpectedly grew into the community it is today. “It makes me feel amazed,” Green says. “I mean, the fact that people are here playing every day and there are tournaments. ”

“I think all humans share. We all want to belong to something, or have a place to feel like you fit in and belong there,” says Jon Bunning, who created a movie for The tables.

When I turned twelve, I worked in summer at my father’s small brick cleaning business. I remember the harsh acid smell of the cleaning solution, the dim bulb light reflecting the busy figures and the scraping sound of stiff iron brushes against rough brick. It was tempting to have your job just finished. But anybody who worked for Thomas Kahoon had to meet his standards, and that included me. If I messed up, he made me stay late until I got it right. My father wasn’t being mean. He demanded the exact same of himself. Every brick he cleaned on the house stood out like a red jewel in a white setting. It was his signature.

In 1970, when I was twenty, I was to get married. I moved out of my parent’s modest place into a housing project. Drugs and gang violence were just beginning to damage the projects. Some of my friends went to jail. Some were killed. My wife Verllen, was 18, and nobody gave our marriage a chance. But we believed in each other. And our faith made us strong.

When we married, I worked as a stock clerk at Southwest Super Food. It was hard, tedious work. Each Friday night a truck came, with cases of food that had to be unloaded, priced and placed on shelves. Most of stock clerks try to get Friday night off. But I was always ready to work. By Saturday morning, all the cans and jars in my aisle were placed with a label facing smartly out, like a line of soldiers on review. That was my signature. I took pride in a job nobody wanted.

Years past since I established my belief in doing the job, influenced profoundly by my father’s persistence and standards. In my mind, it has become a tradition I hope this generation and the generations behind can keep to and follow.